6 Thunderbirds Are Go: Timescape
by Math Girl
Summary: Following their mission to save Earth's last inhabitants from a horde of alien nanites, International Rescue mobilizes, again. This time, they must find a way to stop an ancient death-ship from reaching the planet, and rescue humanity's future.
1. Chapter 1

Dang. Forgot that I meant to title this one "AAA" or something, so it'd be easy to find in my document list. Anyhow, hi! =) Thank you for reading this story. Pretty obviously, I don't own these guys, but I do have fun spending time in their world. It's pretty AU, but you're welcome to join me, if you like. ;)

 **Timescape**

 **1**

 _Tracy Island, a sunny late morning, down at the ring-_

Scott Tracy watched closely as Dr. Hackenbacker… Brains… did his level best to explain a very strange, very dangerous situation. Only half-listening to the engineer's halting words, Scott paid attention to faces. Noticed expressions, posture… and smells. Big as it was, the room was thick with people, with doubt and the sharp scent of stress. Over their heads was a big, darkly glowing image, slowly rotating as it showed all sides of a deadly, oncoming impactor. Not natural. Some kind of derelict alien ship.

Colonel Casey was one of those present, along with her two companions. As Director in command of the Global Defense Force, Linda Casey had tremendous clout. The _other_ colonel, his father, had flown in from London with Casey. Both were in uniform; nodding and leaning forward in their seats, like two people trying hard to fathom a black-and-white art film. Their self-appointed bodyguard Scott completely ignored, not being in the market for an "on-site WorldGov liaison".

The dignitaries might have been utterly lost... might have doubted Brains' astonishing claim, except that he'd brought proof, in the form of three very hard-to-ignore visitors. (There was a fourth, but Dr. Hackenbacker hadn't wanted to tip his hand early, or give Colonel Casey a heart attack.)

Despite their best efforts, Casey and Dad kept staring at Sharl, star witness for the prosecution. In her own time and place, Sharl-Who-waits-no-longer had the same basic rank as Linda Casey. _Here,_ she was simply another rescued citizen, from seven hundred years in the future.

Being very tall, twig-thin and prone to shape-shifting, Sharl was quite eye-catching. _Scott_ had got used to her, but she did sort of startle at first glance, with her burnished gold skin, green eyes and mane of wild yellow hair. Also present were Lieutenant Commander Reese Sheffield and Caleb Gonzalez, which was tough to explain, as they already existed in this muddled timeline, somewhere else. Down in the ring, under a holographic projection of doom, Brains struggled to keep their attention.

"T- To put in concisely, C- Colonel, there were t- two very clear and p- present dangers. One of them, a t- terrible illness, has been d- dealt with, but the _other…_ this drifting alien ar- ar- artifact, has m- most emphatically _not._ Sharl and her p- people were rescued by us, from a f- future where, ah… where m- most life on Earth and all of her, ah… her c- colonies had been eliminated by alien n- nanites, programmed to seek out and d- destroy organic life. If that ship reaches Earth, C- Colonel, we are doomed to end in seven hundred years. If we manage to s- stop it, somehow, then we will experience another, unguessable f- future. At the m-moment, these, ah… these t- two possibilities exist in a s- superposition of states."

White-faced and drained, Hackenbacker ceased pacing the ring's centre to take a drink from his water glass. Then, visibly shaken, he thumped himself down on the couch. Just like Sheff and Caleb, there was more than one version of Brains in this time bubble, but his were much more closely spaced, making it tougher to think.

Colonel Casey had been visualizing the possibilities. Now, as Dr. Hackenbacker wrapped up his presentation, her dark eyes flicked from Sharl to the holographic image of a slowly tumbling, lumpy black obelisk. The so-called death ship. A single line of digits flashed beside it in red: _ETA 23.47 days._

"Looks pretty harmless to me, Doctor," she said, indicating the alien vessel. "I get what you're trying to say... but think of the boost to technology, the scientific _bonanza_ we'd gain by studying that thing, even from a distance. We don't have to send people. Global-1 has plenty of drones, and so does Jove Station. We could…"

"N- NO!" Brains exploded, seeming as frustrated, as upset, as Scott had ever seen him. "Why d- d- do you not understand me?! I h- have _been_ there, Colonel! I have seen, with, ah… with m- my own eyes the r- r- result of such misplaced c- curiosity and outright greed!"

Said Sharl, reaching a spindly hand forth to calm him,

"Speaker, I am to trying, now." Having spent time with Brains, worked in the lab with him, Sharl had lost a bit of her awe, but none of her fondness or respect. Turning to face Colonel Casey, her face literally changed; green eyes becoming narrower, cheekbones more angular. You got used to it, after a while.

"Kornel, the Speaker of Words is truthing to you. My people are being here, without a dome, under the Sky and surrounding by Sea-which-never-stops-roaring, because the Speaker is giving us Words, fulfilling by Honored Sheef. They are to saving us, who would have being dead from blight and the grey dust which consumed Leele. Please, you must to not open the alien spacecraft. There is lack of understand. Why are the Speaker's words not heeding, in this place?"

Sheffield seized her thin, bony shoulder in a friendly and comforting grip. Gave her a little shake.

"Let me try," he suggested, standing up. He, too, was in uniform. GDF Navy. Not a tall man, but sturdily built, with reddish-brown hair and dark eyes. Now, he said, "Colonel, respectfully, I was there, too. I helped fix the comm system. Tried calling for help from anyone, anywhere at all. Ma'am… do you have _any_ idea what it's like to get no answer? Nothing but static and silence? Everyone else on Earth, Mars and all of the colony worlds… was _gone._ Dead. And, that's what you're opening the door to, if we don't find a way to get rid of that nightmare. Take it from a guy who's seen the end of the world, Ma'am. You _don't_ want to do this." (Maintaining his focus was tough, because Sheffield could feel himself at a Unit barbeque with Clara, his girlfriend. Seriously, had a beer in his hand and one arm around Clara's slim waist, right _now.)_ Shaking his head, Sheff pulled himself back together. Taking a seat again, he urged, "Don't visit that thing, don't open it up. Just get it the h*ll out of here."

At that point, Jeff Tracy broke in. Leaning forward, hands on his knees, the handsome, grey-haired colonel said,

"My turn. Okay… assuming that you're correct about the nature and hazards of this artifact, Brains, how do we deal with it? You say that it's unpowered? Dormant, maybe?"

Brains remained slumped in his seat, but at least took his tousled head from his hands and looked up, again.

"Y- Yes, Mr. Tracy. It appears to be in, ah… in s- some form of sleep mode. John?"

"Right here, Brains." And he was; the astronaut's translucent, slightly float-y looking holo appearing in mid-ring beside the now shrunken and side-swiped death ship. "How can I help?"

Scott smiled at his brother, who was back upstairs in Thunderbird 5. Keeping track of things, supposedly, but really just dodging a houseful of noisy, adoring guests.

"C- Could you provide us with dimensions, speed and, ah… and t- trajectory, please, my f- friend?"

"Sure thing," John nodded, adding, "And if there was ever a time to say, _International Rescue, we have a situation,_ this would be it. I've been tracking it visually, on the off chance that any deeper scans would wake something up, in there."

"Yeah, no," cut in Scott, who'd seen those things, too. "Avoid, at all costs."

Scott Tracy had a lot of brothers. He was friendliest with Virgil (currently baby-sitting), closest somehow, with John. Never had to explain a thing to the redhead, except for jokes. John nodded his head, then did something on _his_ end that caused a virtual data screen to appear, down there in the ring. He said,

"It's travelling at one-tenth light, on a trajectory that puts it on a collision course with Earth, in less than a month's time. It's roughly the size of Manhattan Island, but a lot more massive, by a factor of three. Some of that shielding has to be neutronium, or some other exotic, dense matter. No way to be sure, without running invasive scans, or taking a sample."

John's head tilted slightly left, and his expression grew somewhat vague. Listening to Eos, probably. After a moment, he nodded again, saying,

"Yeah. Exactly. How it's managed to avoid detection, all this time, is sort of a mystery, unless it was deliberately set on this path, and just now de-cloaked. That, uh… that could mean that it's waking up on its own... which, um... would be bad."

"Most likely correct," rumbled a new voice, from the lab-access door. Two men walked into the room, then. One was Virgil Tracy. The other…

Colonel Casey's dark eyes widened. Reaching for her comm unit, the officer halfway rose from her seat, breath hissing out like someone had punched her. Behind the director, that new "on-site liaison", Captain Rigby, pulled a loaded sidearm. Moving swiftly, he vaulted into the ring to place himself between Casey and the oncoming Mechanic.

"Sit, Vermin," growled the cyborg. "Your weapon won't even come off safety, unless I allow it. You can listen, or you can be dead. You get a choice." (Which represented some kind of evolution on Kane's part. Might have had something to do with his glowering watchdogs, Virgil and Kay.)

Breathing hard, eyes darting from the Mechanic, to Jeff, to her stiff, wary guard, Casey said,

"Stand down, Captain Rigby. We'll hear what he has to say."

"Oh, will you?" Kane mocked, as the young Marine ground his teeth, but stepped very slightly aside. "I'm honored."

"Listen," said Scott, pinching the bridge of his nose to forestall a sudden, fresh migraine. "It would help if you weren't such a bastard, Kane. Would it actually _kill_ you to be polite?"

The Mechanic shrugged, rattling like a four-slice toaster rolling downhill.

"No. I just don't want to. 'Polite' is reserved for some of my own kind… which does not include you, Ramrod. Maybe Crash-Jockey, here, once I've had the chance to kick his ass. Doesn't include Typicals, ever." Stepping away from Virgil, he added, "I'm here to give my opinion, not make nice with insects. Keep running your mouth, I take that reward Horatio offered, and leave you to solve your own d*mn problems. Your choice."

Again, growth; but Brains' head was back in his hands. In a muffled voice, the engineer pled,

"Just t- tell them, please, Kane."

The Mechanic jet-packed over to join them, burning yet another dark scar on Grandma's nice parquet floor. Virgil sighed audibly, tromping after his "client". Meanwhile, Scott's migraine blossomed and spread. Brains didn't even look up.

Challengingly, deliberately, the cyborg landed with a clanking thump, then rose from his slight crouch just a few feet before Captain Rigby.

"Boo," he said, reaching forward to stab at the tense young Marine with a big, armoured forefinger. Reflexively, Captain Rigby tried to block by making a powerful forearm sweep. No dice. He struck the Mechanic's arm, but couldn't quite move it.

Then, someone else slipped in through the lab-access doorway; a slim, pony-tailed shadow in tight-fitting green. Kane glanced her way, and then looked over at Virgil. Snorting like it all didn't hella much matter, he backed off. Rigby spotted her, too; did a rapid double-take, then kept on looking. Kayo, all flutterguts, stared back. Like Virge, she was on "keep the Mechanic out of trouble" duty. Except now, all she could see was that Goddam distracted liaison. Scott's migraine moved in and brought friends.

As for Colonel Casey, her gimlet brown eyes were right where they had been; staring death and destruction at Kane. Now she snapped,

"I _assume_ there's a point to your presence, here?!"

The cyborg's cold amber eyes flicked her way briefly, contemptuously. Then, he shifted his gaze back to Scott.

"I was able to control some of that sh*t for a while, Ramrod. A whole ship full? You're going to need more than just me. Not my place to say it… but somebody needs to call a full council." Looking at Jeff for the first time, the Mechanic said, _"He_ could do it, maybe. If they'd listen."

Scott, John and Virgil were mystified. Dad, surprisingly, was not.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, again... :) Thank you, Knightlawn, Tikatu, Creative Girl and Bow Echo, for your kind reviews. Had a quick extra thought, so decided to add a bit more.

 **2**

 _The Gobi Desert, moments later, in the throne room of a high, rocky stronghold-_

The Tracys' weren't the only eyes watching that image, reading that virtual data screen. The Hood, a tall and elegant man in a dark suit, with vivid green eyes and a large, hairless head, watched as well. He was able to see through the innocent eyes of his niece, Tanusha, whose budding power had been smothered; crushed down by his own.

There was something deliciously ironic about all this, the Hood mused. Jeff Tracy had stolen the girl as a mere toddler, many years previous. For that insult, he'd been captured and cruelly punished. Then, he'd been allowed to escape, for the Hood had always the "long game" in mind, and there was never just one strand to his web. Now, "Kayo" was her uncle's eyes and ears on Tracy Island; his unwitting window on the doings of International Rescue and… so it would seem… the Mechanic. Interesting.

Turning his head very slightly, the future world leader said over one shoulder,

"Find your brother, and prepare the Cruiser. It appears that there will be work for you, soon."

Someone stepped out of the shadows behind the Hood's empty throne. A girl, in her late teens, with white-streaked brown hair, blue eyes and a sly, foxy face. She wore extremely enhanced purple body armour, and an implant, and she was very much in his employ. Havok.

"Machine-man gettin' on y'r nerves, again, Guvnor?" she enquired, coming to stand nearly beside him. A stupid child, and disrespectful, as well… but she had her uses.

"The Mechanic is unimportant, as are the Tracys. No, my dear… I have a much larger goal in mind. One that you might call 'world-shattering'."

Warmed by the beauty of his own flawless scheme, the Hood began laughing. Already, he could taste the fear and awe that he would command, with an army of nanites behind him.

"The world shall kneel, Havok, beginning with Jeff Tracy. Then, one by one by… _one…"_ his power lashed out, frying the brain of a small lizard, creeping on the ceiling above them. "...They shall all die."

The lizard fell to the ground at their feet, twitching in agony. Casually, the Hood stepped forward, grinding the small, helpless reptile into a bloody paste.

Barking mad, he was, but willing to pay, and that's all that mattered to Havok. Pivoting, she shot away from the laughing Hood, calling for Fuse as she went. And… if her half-recalled need to slaughter Gordon Tracy was met in the process, well… _bonus._

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, gathered at the ring-_

Caleb hadn't said much, all this time. Being the second-youngest guy in the room, he'd pretty much kept a low profile. That rotating ship holo was just frickin' _scary,_ and the Mechanic gave him the creeping jitters, but worst of all was the knowledge that all of this… his place in IR, his thing with Kaise… could soon disappear, completely. In fact, some kinda weird way, he could feel himself standing at pool-side in Wavey-World, whistle around his sunburnt neck, dying inside; watching screaming kids dive off the fake rocks and listening to that stupid, non-stop theme song. _That_ him had never entered the New Crew contest. Had never been part of IR. And what about the rest? Jan, Cody, Josh and Piper; where were they?

"Excuse me," said Caleb, as Colonel Tracy was starting to speak. "Just a second, please. I gotta… I gotta say something. It's _important!"_

Everyone turned to look at him, including John's floating blue image. Guessed he _had_ been sort of loud, at that.

"Yeah. My name is Caleb Gonzalez, and I'm only here because, in that other timeline, the GDF held a 'New Crew' contest, to replace International Rescue. Dumb idea, I know, but we did the best we could, with crap equipment and a month's training. Maybe should've introduced myself like: _"Hi, I'm Ded Meatly."_ Anyways… I heard that you were planning a backup team, here too, Colonels… and I just want to ask you to pick _us_ again. We can do the job, Sir… Ma'am… and that way, when the time comes, I'll be in the right place to meet Kaise, when she needs me. I dunno how… it'll just happen. I'll _make_ it happen."

Everyone was still waiting, like he was supposed to go on, so Caleb added, very quietly,

"Please."

That's when, a few at a time, people started to talk. Sheffield was first, saying,

"He's a good man, Colonel Casey. Always where you need him, with the right attitude. Haven't met the others, but if they're anything like Gonzalez, here, you've got the makings of a great team."

A smiling Professor Moffat was next, speaking from the stairs beside Gordon and Alan.

"I can vouch for this young man's dedication to duty as well, Colonel. Rescues take more than just courage. They take a heart for others, and Caleb has that, as one would remark, 'in spades'. Please consider him, and anyone he might suggest."

Sharl spoke up, too, and Brains, plus John and Major Pope. Weird, huh? There were big decisions to make, the end of the world to stop, but everyone put it on pause just to back Caleb's play. Maybe that's what the professor had meant by "a heart for others"? Kaise had been standing behind his seat, all this time. When he put his hand up, she took it, and squeezed.

The Director gave them a very serious look, and then pulled up a virtual data screen.

"What are the names of these others, Mr. Gonzalez? No promises, but if they're as good as you claim, we may have our… already tested… backup crew. Can you live with that, Scott? Jeff?"

Surprised at being consulted, his head caught in a force-five migraine vise, Scott Tracy blinked and then nodded.

"Yes, Ma'am," he decided. "I think we can handle that. Dad?"

Jeff Tracy had drifted over to speak… quite tensely… with the Mechanic. Now, he turned around and said,

"Yes, absolutely. You have my full and wholehearted support, Son." And then he was gone, again; utterly focused on questioning Kane.

Meanwhile, Colonel Casey was waiting, so the part-time aquanaut started spitting out names and web ID numbers.

"There's Janice Ming, 254015… Cody Beech, 234271… Joshua Kelly, 234265… and Piper Austin, 167827."

At each name and number, a picture came up (only, Cody's was weirdly faint and distorted, like he wasn't as much _here,_ as he had been _there.)_ All the imaged people were young; each one a friend and a teammate. At the last picture, Piper's, Alan leapt off the stairs, shouting,

"Wait! That's _her!_ That's the girl! For real, I _know_ her!"

Hurtling startled people and vaulting the furniture, Alan Tracy somersault-crash landed into the ring.

"Her name's Piper?" he asked, staring hard at that shimmering holo. "That's awesome! That's a _great_ name! Where is she?"

Linda Casey frowned, tapping away at her data pad.

"According to WorldGov Secure-Net, enrolled at Union Junior College, studying web design… and apparently sidelines in helmet-cam zombie skate videos, whatever that means."

Overwhelmed, Alan whipped around, seized Caleb's shoulders and just shook him. 'Cause, like, he got it. He totally got it. Where love was concerned, you just found a way, or you made one. Period.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, there. =) Thank you for reading, and an especial deep bow to Tikatu, whose brilliant idea worked awesomely well in this chapter. Bow Echo, Creative Girl, Guest and Whirl Girl, I appreciate all your support and feedback.

 **3**

 _In space over Tracy Island, in Thunderbird 5's central sphere-_

John took advantage of all the emotional chaos, below, to do some private planning. He'd never had any faith in the power of big, public meetings to accomplish _crap._ The bigger and more numerous the mouths, the smaller the total brain-load, in his experience.

In a lab or cyberverse setting, he worked best with Brains, a good friend. On missions, he teamed well with Scott and Alan. Kayo, not so much, because emotional considerations tended to make him overly cautious. And, always, in every aspect of life, there was Eos.

If he found himself not very hungry, it was because she'd used ambient energy to reprocess his food, converting it, over and over, into something his body could use. If he hardly needed to sleep, it was down to her vacuuming up all those plaque-forming stress and exhaustion chemicals, before they could damage his brain.

In short, Eos was always there, inside and out, making for a pretty nearly sealed system. If he didn't think about it too hard, John Tracy was happy enough; right where he wanted to be, with an interesting challenge ahead. Because, _d*mn_ … this was a big one.

C'mon, Brainiac, _think._

World Council meeting wouldn't do any good, whatever Kane said. It was going to have to be _them,_ International Rescue, with maybe the GDF and Mechanic along for backup. So…

Problem: Giant, alien derelict on a crash course for Earth, packed (maybe) with vicious, life-ending nanites. Couldn't open up Pandora's box for a look inside, because, yeah… not a suicidal moron.

Job one: shift vehicle trajectory.

Job two: end the threat, permanently

Options? Rolling a bit as he drifted, John considered his possibles. Plunge it into the Sun… time crystal manipulation, sending the derelict very far forward in spacetime, to heat death, or the Big Crunch… rift it into another, already lifeless dimension (win-win, that one; Earth would be happy, and so, presumably, would the nanites' programming).

Time frame? Right the h*ll _now_ sounded pretty good. Scratch that. _Yesterday_ , with a little help from the crystal.

Costs? A crap-ton of power, any way you looked at it. Rapid sunward acceleration, increasing the time crystal's effective range, and rifting space were all jaw-droppingly expensive solutions, power-wise. Wasn't sure Earth had all that to give, even with last-ditch, "All Whos together" cooperation. Have to put Scott on that one, John decided; _he_ was the family diplomat.

Then again… maybe Kane _hadn't_ been suggesting Chancellor Shaw's World Council? He didn't seem to have much respect for what he called "typicals". Wasn't in character for him to turn to them, now. Maybe the cyborg had another idea. Only one way to find out, John supposed, though it meant going downstairs, again.

Thinking deeply, the astronaut drifted inside of that beautifully lit up and functional micro-G sphere. The suit itself, prompted by Eos, issued small jets of air to keep him from bumping the bulkheads or consoles. Second best place to think (though he'd never admit it aloud) was down by the ocean, or riding a horse, with no place in particular you needed to be.

Then, just as he'd got comfortably sunk in detached, free-associative planning mode, Eos whizzed up and said,

"John, there is a visitor. A shuttle from Global-1 has requested docking clearance, but you are thinking, and not to be disturbed. Shall I send it away?"

Global-1? This muddled timescape had changed a great deal. John could sense that. But the big space station's commander, Captain O'Bannon, was… His blood pressure rose, and his heart rate and breathing sped up, until Eos hit him with some kind of chemical soothment.

"Stop it," John snapped. "Quit messing with my hormones, Eos, and let her in."

"Yes, John," his friend and guardian responded. Her tracked camera lens was some ways off, but he could see that its LED ring had gone all infrared sullen. "As you say."

"And no screwing around with the airlocks, Eos. There's nothing funny about explosive decompression." (At least twelve of his alternate selves knew this for a fact, according to Eos. Knew, as in past tense. _Very_ past tense.)

There wasn't much sprucing up that John Tracy could do, in here, although he seemed to hear Virgil, urging him to comb his red hair and put on a clean shirt. He wasn't _wearing_ a shirt, though. Just his blue, circuit-shot environment suit. Could dust _that_ off a little, maybe…

Then, a voice from the airlock's comm system broke through his thoughts, saying,

"Lieutenant, put your helmet on, stat. I'm wearing full gear, and I've triggered a level-10 decontamination bath, but this is important. Acknowledge, Thunderbird 5!"

"Acknowledged, Global-1. Helmeting, now."

John was surprised… and not. Somewhen, he'd been frozen, suspended near death from an awful, unstoppable virus, to be thawed out much later as part of the cure. Then, he'd died. Made sense that O'Bannon wouldn't risk catching and spreading that sh*t. Plus, yeah… she outranked him. Better to play ball than piss-off a superior officer.

So, he reached out and fielded the helmet that Eos sent tumbling his way. That made John, too, start spinning, but much more slowly. Part of the reason he loved it up here was freedom from gravity, unrestrained flight, all that sheer beauty, and solitude.

Well… mostly solitude. Once he'd confirmed that his helmet was on and locked down, Captain O'Bannon came in through the "guest entrance". John met her down in the slow-spinning perma-glass ring, just as Earth rolled into view. Here, they could stand up and talk.

Sure enough, she was wearing full EVA gear, and still glistened with the most powerful antimicrobial spray that Eos could muster. For just an instant, they stared at each other; grey eyes to sea green. He didn't quite know what to say, because females, other than Kayo, Grandma and Eos, were a complete and total mystery. At last, she said,

"Are you all right, Tracy?"

Inside of his helmet, John nodded.

"Yes, Captain. I'm fine. I don't think that the illness exists, in this splinter of spacetime. Won't get you sick, if that's what…"

 _"Me?!_ Get _me_ sick?!" she flared suddenly, beginning to leak from her eyes (a little). The tracks glowed in Earthshine, subtly blue.

Impulsively, John reached out to touch her big, bulky white spacesuit, but O'Bannon jerked away from his hand. He didn't pursue her, even though she was quite definitely crying, now; and inside of a helmet, which made no sense, at all.

"Not w- worried about _me_ , Lieutenant! Goddam scared to death for _you!_ I remember, I know, somehow, and I'm not going… not e _ver_ going to do anything that puts you at risk, John. If I'm carrying anything, I'll space myself, rather than pass it to you! I just… wanted to be sure you were here. Wanted to see you, is all. I'm fine. Be okay, and I'll go now."

 _Females._

"Hang on, Captain. Eos!"

"Yes, John," chirped his AI companion, from a fast-zipping overhead camera. "Shall I vent the ring? You will need to be braced, as I sweep for persistent foreign contaminants."

 _Really? Double-_ _plus_ _females._

"No, Eos. I want you to scan Captain O'Bannon down to her quarks. Check for any and all bio-contaminants, and eliminate same. Understood?"

The AI was rebelliously quiet, as something like hope began to grow in O'Bannon's wide, steel-grey eyes.

"Understood?" John repeated, a bit of an edge creeping into his voice.

"Understood, John. Scanning for no doubt a plethora of STDs and fungal infestations. Most likely riddled with parasites, as well."

"End commentary, Eos. Just do it."

Longest three-minute wait of his life… but John took his helmet off, anyhow. The h*ll with it. If staying safe meant that he couldn't even…

"Scan complete. No viral contamination detected, beyond incipient rhinovirus or 'common cold' infection. Antivirals may be acquired via link with the bulkhead bio-med station."

O'Bannon was shaking, a little. Still too spooked to react, maybe. Risking an Article-15… court-martial, even… John took hold of her helmet, flipped a few tabs to get it unlocked, and then twisted it free of her neck-ring.

"I'll take my chances with catching cold," he told Ridley, using a gloved hand to swipe at her tears. Her own spacesuit gloves were too bulky for that. "Besides, there's always aspirin, fluids and plenty of rest."

Earth was rolling past at their feet, blue and white as Dad's favourite snow globe. O'Bannon leaned her face into his hand, still trembling with shock and something like love. He knew that, now. Tricky to deal with, though.

"Um… want some pizza? I've got plenty, and it'd be no problem to heat some up. If there's one thing I know how to do, Captain, it's nuke and rehydrate."

She turned her face so that, just for a second, her lips brushed the palm of his glove, which he could feel, soft and warm. Then,

"Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I'd like that very much. Then... maybe you could fill me in on that sudden no-fly zone that's just been declared. Casey, herself, no less."

Back on safe ground, again, holding her chunky-gloved hand, John nodded.

"Sure thing. Maybe you can help me work through a few options for a small problem I've got, while we're at it."

The words "sure thing" and "at it" made O'Bannon have to bite her lip to stifle a giggle. But… John was safe, he was alive, he was right _here…_ and she found herself just about drunk with relief because of all that. He smelled good, and she soon found a moment, there in the galley, pizza warming up in the background, to thoroughly kiss him.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, upstairs-_

He was online, typing madly away in a closet, at a quick-summoned virtual screen. Yeah, stuff was going on, downstairs, but this mattered, too.

 _Hi im alan… U thr?_

 _Y/ hi alan…Sup?_

 _im a big fan_

 _cool… subscribe yet?_

 _LOL…Duh! Love how U took out those walkers at teh mall… gr8 AR at teh fountain_

 _Thnx bro… nice to B noticed… got all dunked, tho… LOL_

Alan Tracy's heart crashed around in his skinny chest, there on that pile of old clothes and table cloths. (Upstairs hall closet, not far from the bathroom. Literal frickin' _only_ place he could get some alone time.) She'd told him about that fountain incident, before; how she'd fallen right into it, in front of a million people.

 _not a meme this time R U?_ he typed, feeling something sting at his eyes.

 _ROFL… Bleev it… only bad pub is no pub… meme = fame, bro_

Alan grinned, his freckled face lit up by screen-glow.

 _know wht U mean, Pip… culd meet sometime? no weerd. just frndz._

It seemed like forever before she typed back,

 _sorry… just got pinged frm WLDGV!_ (row of emojis, none of them good). _Thy wnt 2 C me! wot 4?_

Well, that he could help her with, totally.

 _Sok… thy wnt U 4 space pilot… like 2 fly? culd teach U_

 _right… WTFug?_

Taking a deep breath, fingers flying, Alan responded,

 _trust me pls… its alan tracy… tell thm Y/ pip_

And then, as inspiration struck,

 _U cn hunts zombeez on traC Ilnd… nobodeez dn tht B4_

A moment passed, as though she'd had to verify his link and ID. Then,

 _LOL… ur weerd… i lk it… ok… sed Y/_

 _W00t! C U soon hopes_

 _C U, A-T… g2g class_ (snoozing emoji)

Alan wanted to kiss that beautiful virtual screen, and the purple-haired girl on the other side of it. Settled for,

 _hv funs… l8r pip_

 _l8r… O/L_

He'd done it. She'd be there. Alan Tracy cut off the screen and sat back, pulling up lots of outgrown clothing and linens to hug. Piper was coming. She'd be there, just like she'd promised somewhen, otherwhere else.


	4. Chapter 4

'Allo, and thanks to Emily, this time, for a very good suggestion. And for all who have read and reviewed, hugs! =)

 **4**

 _Later, leaving space-_

He took the elevator down, to find that nothing much had been accomplished, beyond getting the backup crew started. Colonel Casey and Dad were returning to London for an early meeting with Chancellor Shaw. What would come of _that_ was anyone's guess… but most likely a formal resolution to meet in the unspecified future and discuss more resolutions. Because, yeah… politics.

Brains and Scott had both retreated; one to his lab with Professor Moffat, the other to the cockpit of Thunderbird 1, where he planned to call in every favour and jot of goodwill that IR had ever accumulated. Also, being honest, he was talking with Penny.

John had no reason to laugh about that, because he knew how Scott felt; it'd been a wrench, leaving O'Bannon. (Despite Eos' prominently displayed red 'countdown to impact' timer). Wanted more than just kisses and strategy sessions. Wanted to tell her… stuff. Except, now he had work to do.

The space elevator docked with a loud, bell-like _CLANG;_ claws gripping tight to the landing pad. Once again, he got decontaminated, just in case. It was a lemony-fresh, scowling John Tracy who stepped out of his elevator, into the grip of gravity, and a warm, windy, tropical night. Heard roaring water, smelt shifting greenery, saw family.

Virgil met him out on the gantry, with a shoulder clasp and a gruff welcome. Behind his big, dark-haired brother… Well, John would have known the Mechanic was around, even if he hadn't caught the gleam of houselights on burnished metal and perma-glass. His circuitry reacted by forming a puncture-and-crush-proof network just under his skin, plus caging his heart and lungs. Felt weird.

John shook it off, and then hoisted his personals bag onto one shoulder. Virgil smiled at the sight of it, saying,

"Gonna stay awhile, Spaceman?"

The astronaut shrugged, as they began heading back up to the house. Not rushing, because the night was pleasant and clear. For Earth, anyway.

"Seems like we've got some planning to do," he said, adding, with a cautious glance at their guest, _"All_ of us."

"Crash-jockey said you wanted to talk," Kane remarked, without turning his tatooed head.

"My name is Virgil," the pilot grumbled, with ragged and much-abused patience.

"Congratulations. How'd you earn it?" growled the Mechanic, still walking.

"Earn…?" Virgil asked. "How do you earn a d*mn _name?"_

About halfway along the gantry, high over the black lava cliff and surging ocean, the young men stopped walking. Had something to settle, and besides, the house was crowded. Said the Mechanic,

"I earned mine by surviving my trial. Went in with three sisters. I made it through, they didn't. One of them almost did, but that last thing… the blades… she wasn't fast enough to avoid. Made me the only one of my year to survive to adulthood. Won me a name: Evan. Now… _Crash-jockey…_ how'd you earn yours?"

Without missing a beat, Virgil replied,

"A few years back, I single-handedly saved my brother and myself from five vicious assailants, in Santa Fe. Took a lot of, um… effort. Had to work really hard to, you know… abate their threat. They were insatiable. Had my work cut out for me, but Gordon helped, too. A little."

With truly heroic effort, John kept a straight face. Five screaming fan-girls at a faked crash-site didn't exactly…

"You?" The Mechanic demanded, pivoting to face the astronaut with startling speed, for so large and ungainly a man. First thing that came to mind was his latest fantasy role-playing adventure with Alan… but his Elven swordsman's plunge into the vaults of chaos might be a little too obvious. Instead, John retold what had happened inside of that ancient killing machine, the one from which he'd extracted Jaeger. It was a good story, even in John's laconic style, and it won him not just a name, but a grunted, _'Well done'_.

By this time, they were all three out by the railing, drinking the beers that Mini-max brought. John and Virgil, anyhow. The mechanic just jacked himself into a high-voltage outlet; enjoying that sensation far more than mere alcohol. Said John, at one point,

"You were talking to Dad about calling a council meeting, earlier. I take it you don't mean WorldGov?"

Kane started at him for a moment, seemingly torn between contempt and disbelief.

"You have no idea," he growled. "Really effing think you're one of _them."_

"One of _who?"_ Virgil cut in, flipping his empty bottle over to Mini-Max, who swooped and caught it in flight.

"One of the Typicals. Vermin. The ones who created _us_ from volunteer cell-lines, to be weapons, and fight their d*mn wars. Only, we wouldn't do it. Killed our handlers and left. Eight families, including the Tracys. Your leader could call a council. Try, anyhow. Don't know who'd listen, and I told him that. You lot are so crossbred, you're nothing but mongrels. Well…" the Mechanic trailed off uneasily, as though his thinking had started to shift. "Maybe not mongrels, exactly. Just… I dunno. Who gives a sh*t?"

Neither John nor Virgil spoke for a moment; feeling a certain tightness of gut and crawling of skin. Yes, they were strong… because they worked out. Fast, because they trained constantly. Had amazing endurance, because every day of their lives, they'd fought to increase their own resilience. How else could five guys and Kayo staff International Rescue? There was nothing strange about that. Nothing "Special".

"You're wrong," said Virgil; dark eyes narrowed to slits, breath coming hard. "And you're a Goddam liar. I'm out."

Pushed his way past John to leave the balcony, and return to that crowded house, or to Thunderbird 2. The astronaut watched him go, saying nothing. His open-trapdoor feeling lasted until Eos put something into John's bloodstream to settle him down, again. That, and the beer, maybe.

"Eight families?" John repeated, clearing his throat. After a moment, the Mechanic nodded.

"Yeah. Kane, Kyrano, De la Vega, Harris, Beech, Hiro and Tracy… sort of."

"You said eight. That's only seven," John objected. Kane shifted position, rattling and clanking like a very large metal dog bedding down at a junkyard.

"Dos Santos, too, if any are left. Not a popular bunch. Been open season on that lot, for awhile now. They do things with time, and they broke the accord."

Out of all the crap spinning around in his head, John managed to grope for,

"I'm _not_ a weapon. I won't be used that way."

Kane leaned with his muscular forearms crossed on the balcony railing, and looked out at a restless, moon-sparkled sea.

"No," he rumbled. "Me, either. But let them figure it out and slap a collar on you, and that's exactly what's going to happen. That's what makes you sh*t-heads being so public, a real problem. Better, if they think we're just some kind of pre-conflict legend, Tracy. A lot better."

John couldn't think of one thing to say to that. Could not think of one thing to do, besides finish his beer and stare at the night with an old, much-changed enemy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Below, in the rebuilt time lab-_

Brains set down his instruments, and stepped away from the glowing blue crystal. A few yards off to the right, Professor Moffat was still hard at work, researching all known dust and artifact data.

"M- Moffy," Brains announced, "I b- believe that I can, ah… can b- boost the time crystal's range, if a p- powerful enough energy source is, ah… is m- made available."

"Can you boost it enough to affect the entire derelict?" she asked him, without turning around. Hackenbacker shrugged miserably.

"Th- That would be pure, ah… pure c- conjecture at his point, Moffy, as there is n- no power source great enough to even allow, ah… allow th- the attempt." Laughing bitterly, he suggested, "P- Perhaps Langstrom Fischler's white h- hole is the answer!"

Vanessa Moffat sighed. Leaning back in her rolling office chair, she rubbed at her temples and closed her blue eyes.

"Hiram," she whispered, as he stole softly up to drape a lab coat over her shoulders. "Have you… thank you, Dear… have you wondered if the reason we've encountered no other intelligent lifeforms is because… because _that_ thing, or a fleet of them, has "cleansed" every planet, as it means to do, here?"

Brains crouched down beside her seat. Close as love could bring him, without actually making contact.

"I d- do not know, M- Moffy… but if so, then we have all, ah… all th- the more reason to d- defeat its purpose, and allow life to, ah… to f- flourish, once more."

Still with her eyes closed, Vanessa sniffled, then smiled.

"I want to live, Hiram, and I want to marry you. I want a license for children. A dozen, if possible. Do you think WorldGov will permit us to have a family, if we succeed in destroying that beastly thing?"

Brains smiled, too, though she couldn't see him; his beautiful, wonderful Moffy.

"I sh- shall demand it, My, ah… My L- Love," he assured her. "It is, ah… is m- much better than h- having a mere building called after us. I h- have always wanted a son, and I am p- partial to the n- name "Fermat", myself."

Moffy giggled, being slightly sleep-drunk.

"Marie, if a girl," she suggested.

"Indeed! An en- entire family of, ah… of g- great mathematicians and physicists," Brains exulted, already loving this phantom brood.

A family, he thought. Moffy, and many children, building a life to replace what he'd lost. The thought warmed him up to the core, so close, Brains could touch it... and all that he had to do first, was battle a monster.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Leaving Mongolia-_

The Chaos Cruiser shot away from that rugged, dark stronghold, which looked like a crooked stick that someone had thrust in the pebbly ground. Havok was flying, Fuse at the tech station, still belching his breakfast. Behind them, strapped into a tall, throne-like seat, sat the Hood. Behind that... was his "cargo".

Thanks to his darling niece, he knew precisely where to find that so-called Death Ship. The area was off-limits, of course, but the Hood had no respect whatsoever for the GDF's no-fly zone. Naturally , enough, he'd kept from his hired minions the true nature of what they were headed for… and why.

The greedy youngsters were expecting alien weapons and salvage. He knew better, and chuckled inside. Fuse and Havok would become the Hood's first test subjects, against his control of the nanites. If he succeeded, they'd live. If not… Well, there was always the Mechanic to summon, with perhaps one or two of Jeff Tracy's litter. He could not bring the swarm to Earth, after all, until he'd achieved total control. Nor would he risk himself. The world's future ruler was far too important. Let others test out his notion.

As the sky went from cold desert-blue to the deep, hollow blackness of space, the Hood smiled; spinning plots like a venomous spider.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks, you guys, for your reviews and encouragement. =)

 **5**

 _London, the former U.K., at the sprawling WorldGov Admin Centre-_

Jeff had followed Colonel Casey into the Chancellor's spacious and well-guarded office suite. In many ways, Sebastian Shaw was the most powerful man on Earth, but he wore the distinction lightly.

His office was large, but sparsely decorated; emphasizing form and simplicity over luxurious display. His plain wooden desk was no bigger than Jeff's; the seat behind it, a simple, old-fashioned office chair with dark leather upholstery.

Shaw stood up as the two officers entered his suite. They'd been conducted within by a pretty young intern, who blushed nervously as she stuttered out,

"Ch- Chancellor, your guests have arrived. Colonel Linda Casey and… and Colonel Jeff Tracy, Milord."

Shaw smiled. The expression never quite reached his light eyes, Jeff noticed, though it did flick twin, Scott-like dimples into life. He was a large man, and quite muscular, with a taste for old-style dress and pre-conflict antiques. Wore a single, heavy gold signet ring on the third finger of his right hand, and the tailored dark suit of another era.

Nodding to the blonde young intern, he said,

"Thank you, Zara. That will be all."

The girl managed a clumsy curtsy, shot Jeff an odd, searching look, and then left the room, shutting those big wooden doors behind her. Shaw came around the desk to greet them, moving with dancer- or boxer-like grace.

"Jeff… Linda… come in, come in," he boomed. "Have a seat," the chancellor offered, indicating a group of conveniently placed chairs and low tables. Quite obviously, the chancellor did not mean to discuss business from behind a desk.

In a way, Sebastian Shaw was a handsome man, but it was a shark-like, or crocodile attractiveness, and you never felt yourself safe in his presence. Pheromones, or something. One of those men whose handshake was just a little too firm; his eye contact alarmingly intense.

Jeff Tracy might have been one of the very few people that all this didn't intimidate. Smiling back, he shook the man's hand, saying,

"Thank you for seeing us, Chancellor. We have a great deal to tell you, but it's better if it comes from Colonel Casey, I think."

Shaw turned his head to regard Linda. He had heavy sideburns, and longish dark hair which ought to have looked ridiculous, but somehow did not.

"Very well, I await your summation, Colonel Casey. Facts, please, and bare-bones analysis. Time is short, and we are pressed for solutions. Drink? I can offer you alcohol, coffee or tea. It is early here, I realize… but with jet leg, one can never assume how a visitor's clock is set. Choose, as they say, 'your poison'."

Linda took coffee; Jeff, a bourbon and soda with plenty of ice. There was a well-stocked bar at one side of the room, to the left of Shaw's giant, dimmed windows. Everyone poured their own selection… neat vodka, for the chancellor… and then they went back, and sat down.

"So, Director," said Shaw, smiling that almost-there smile of his. "What have we discovered about this impactor?"

Linda set her coffee down on the nearest, slate-topped table. She'd brought her data pad along, and could project from it, if the need arose, but decided to stick with words.

"Thunderbird 5 has the best photo-analytic and scanning capability in the world, Chancellor," she began. "The pertinent figures are contained in the report I sent from Tracy Island, but to recapitulate: the object _was_ traveling at one-tenth light speed. Its tumble and gravitational interactions have since slowed the artifact, according to John Tracy, my primary contact."

Shaw sat back, steepled his fingers, and smiled again.

"Ah, yes…" he remarked. "Colonel Tracy's second son. A lieutenant, isn't he, in the GDF Space Corps?"

"Inactive reserve," Jeff cut in hurriedly, "owing to conflict of interest."

"I'm sure," said the Chancellor, with a nod. "Can't be two places at once, can he? And we want the eyes and ears of International Rescue right where they are, do we not? Pity your oldest boy… Scott… chose to depart the Air Corps. I am told that he exhibited tremendous potential as a fighter pilot."

Jeff kept a smile on his face, and freshened their drinks; feeling that he was swimming over very deep, dark and perilous waters.

"Scott felt that he could do more good as IR's field commander, Sir. _There,_ he works to save lives… as we're trying to do here, today. Linda?"

"Yes," she responded, having just discreetly checked her official cell phone. "The object appears to be some form of alien vessel, or artifact, gentlemen. Again, the specifics are contained in my report, but John used the phrase: _about the size of Manhattan Island, but denser._ Even without the supposed nanite threat, Chancellor, that would present a problem, were it to strike the Earth."

"Obviously," agreed Shaw, downing half of his drink in one gulp. "Continue. I wish to learn more of these nanites. IR's engineer, Dr. Hackenbacker, has worked with something similar in the past, has he not?"

Jeff and Linda exchanged glances. For a politician, Shaw was unusually astute. Nodding, Casey pressed on with her report.

"Yes, Chancellor, but those are for building and repair. These… allegedly… hunt down and destroy organic life."

"Allegedly?" Shaw probed gently.

"Well, Sir… all we really have is the testimony of a few people who claim to have travelled in time. This group… which includes Dr. Hackenbacker… says that they've seen the nanites destroy human life, not just on Earth, but everywhere else, including Mars and the colonies. They point to some legends and tales from a few rescued survivors, as proof that the nanite threat, this "dust", is connected to the drifting ship."

"I see," said Shaw. "I also see that you doubt this, Colonel?" the chancellor's dark, heavy eyebrows lifted a bit as he asked; the ghost of a smile playing over his mouth.

"Sir, this is an alien artifact!" Linda blurted, leaning so far forward in her chair that she half-rose from the seat. "The first one we've encountered, except for that shard on Gliese 581c. Think of what we could _learn,_ Chancellor Shaw! We owe it to humanity not to just throw away our one possible contact with others!"

Jeff reacted as though he'd been stabbed, reeling back in his seat, brown eyes first wide, and then slitted.

"Director," he snapped, "the witnesses are reliably proven to have visited the future. Over twenty of them were _born_ and nearly _died_ there. If they say that they've seen the Earth wiped bare by nanites, then I believe them! The h*ll with alien contact, get that thing out of here!"

Casey's nostrils flared, and her auburn brows lowered.

"I'm thinking of the future, Jeff!"

"Which we _won't_ have, because…"

"Jeff, Linda… please," cut in Shaw, lifting a big, well-groomed hand. "This bickering accomplishes nothing. Now, here is my judgment, for the time being. First, the populace must be kept calm. No word of a potential strike is to be leaked to the public. Second, an evacuation plan… headed by yourself, Colonel Tracy… is to be drawn up. One that will preserve those individuals deemed worthy of survival, by removing them to Mars, or one of the nearer, more habitable colonies. Third, a way must by found to shift the, erm… "death ship's" trajectory, such that it bypasses Earth, entirely. As for these nanites, until their threat level has been determined one way or another, the artifact is _strictly_ off limits. No-fly, no-go, except by International Rescue, and their approved scientists."

"Too late, Chancellor," whispered Linda Casey, looking up from her phone; this time, not discreetly, at all. "A cloaked vessel is headed on a direct intercept course with the artifact. It triggered the mass sensors on Guard-Sats 47 through 56."

The Chancellor's expression hardened. Turning to stare at Jeff Tracy, he said,

"I believe that this is your purview, Colonel. You, and those rather remarkable sons of yours. Stop that intruder. _Now."_

Shooting a complex glare at Director Casey, Jeff stood up, already hitting his wrist comm.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _The launch silo, in Thunderbird 1-_

Scott Tracy had fallen asleep in the cockpit, again. It was comfortable, there, and private, unlike their too-crowded house. He'd drifted off with Penny's soft, musical voice in his ear, as she talked of her latest soiree.

Then, his father's message came through. Sitting bolt upright, Scott switched comm settings and fielded the call.

"Uh-oh," he responded, and, "Oh, sh*t… Yes, Sir… Yes… We're on it."

Dad wasn't happy, and no wonder, given the situation. He also wasn't his usual self; quieter, less assured. Must've been other people around, Scott figured.

"…absolutely vital that you intercept that ship, Son. Might be anything at all from the press, to pirates, but we have to assume the worst, since they're going in cloaked."

"Yes, Sir. Will you be coming back to the island, Sir?" Scott asked him, a touch of hope just brushing his thoughts.

"No, Son. I'm sorry. I'm needed here in London, but… talk to the Mechanic. There may be a way to summon extra help. Can't say anything more. Be safe, and love to your sister and grandmother. Tracy, out." And with that, Dad's image vanished.

Scott grunted, raking a hand through his dense, springy brown hair. Was about to call his brothers, but one of them, Virgil, beat him to the punch, almost literally. Virge was out there on the boarding gantry, hammering at his perma-glass canopy. The noise was like cannon fire. Virgil didn't look very happy, either. Well, take a number and get in line; t-shirts on sale at the rear.

Hitting a few switches, Scott opened the Bird's canopy and extended his seat. Ratchets clicked, servos whined, pushing Scott from the sheltering cockpit, out to that huge, echoing launch silo.

"Listen, Virge…" he began, but his younger brother wasn't having any.

"No, _you_ listen, Scott! I was talking to the Mechanic. We both were. He said… He's lying, Scott! He has to be lying."

The last part was delivered as an almost inaudible, deeply bewildered whisper. Scott was out of his seat by this point, and not much inclined to sympathy. Too-much-and-a-half going on.

"Lying about _what_ , Virgil?" he demanded, counting silently backward from five.

His brother looked up from studying the softly vibrating metal gantry beneath them; handsome face drawn, dark eyes bleak and wounded.

"Just a lot of dumbass kid-stuff. Those stories about "Specials". He says they're all true, and… and that we're some kind of freak genetic experiments, but it's a lie. Dad would've told us, or Uncle Lee. I mean…"

Scott shifted position, but his reaction, or lack thereof, said it all. Virgil's expression changed; moving from pained denial, to comprehension, and then right on to fury.

"You bastard," he growled. "You _knew._ You've heard this before!"

Scott held his ground, snapping,

"Virgil… A: Dad said something like that, but it was need-to-know. Told me to keep it quiet. _His_ idea, not mine. B: We've got some idiot news hound or scavenger crew defying the no-fly zone to reach that derelict. C: What the h*ll difference does it make where we came from? It's what we're _doing_ that counts. Promise you, Virge, as soon as the dust settles, I'll sit you guys down and tell you everything _he_ told me… but, right now, we've got a train to catch, Buddy. You with me? 'Cause I can't f*cking do this, alone."

Virgil Tracy had been breathing hard, those massive muscles of his bunching up like piled boulders. Now, he relaxed some, and nodded.

"Yeah, Scott. I'm with you. We all are. It's just… we're _not_ weapons. We're not some mutated cell-line. We're people."

"We're Tracys," Scott agreed, clasping the pilot's broad shoulder. Then, "Call Brains and the others, even… H*ll, why not? Get Caleb, and the Mechanic. We'll meet in hangar 3, and we launch in fifteen minutes. _Move."_

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Beachside, in warm, surging waters-_

Gordon Tracy swam it out, as always. He was restless and troubled, so he turned to the sea. Dark waves lifted and crashed, touched at their crests by green phosphorescence. The aquanaut rose and fell right along with them, practicing every stroke that he knew.

Yes, it was dangerous, swimming at night and alone. No, he didn't care. Couldn't sleep, anyway. Might as well work on his form, maybe nap on the beach when he'd worn himself out. If he could.

Having swum out as far as the lava-block seawall, Gordon lifted his head, took a deep breath, and flip-turned. Bitter water and bubbles roared in his ears like music. Whenever his head was up, a whistling wind took over, gusty and loud. Behind it all, like a half-tuned, inescapable radio signal, he heard crying; some lost little kid, out there, alone.

Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he was being haunted, but Gordon didn't think so. He thought… he thought that someone desperately needed his help, and was trying real hard to get through. Except, Gordon didn't know who the kid was, or how to find him. Didn't know where to turn for help, either. Just swam through the darkness, racking his brain and trying to think.

He was about halfway to shore when his wrist comm went off, blinking a bright red alert.

 _'Thank God,'_ Gordon though, redoubling his pace for the beach. _'Action, at last!'_

…and maybe some answers, too.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi, again! =) Just me, checking in with a chapter. Your kind reviews and comments are very much appreciated, as are suggestions. Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Whirl Girl and Guest, thanks!

 **6**

 _Space, between the orbits of Earth and Mars, in the hurtling Chaos Cruiser-_

They'd set off a number of remote perimeter satellites, thanks to their vessel's speed and its mass, which could not be effectively cloaked. Interceptors had been launched from Mars and the Moon, according to Fuse. Annoying, yes. Disastrous, no. The Hood would have preferred to face the Tracys later, at a time of his choosing, with a swarm of devouring nanites behind him, but… no matter. He was well-enough armed, already. Hideously so.

Something had happened to alter reality. He was aware of the loop, where at least two mighty timelines came together and battled for dominance. Which one would emerge from that Gordian knot was uncertain, but the Hood found those extra perspectives highly enlightening. To put it more simply, he now knew what _not_ to do.

He'd also learnt where and just how to capture certain quite useful weapons, which he would very soon need. Through Tanusha's eyes, he watched the furor on Tracy Island that presaged a launch, and sneered, caressing the arms of his throne-like command seat. This time, International Rescue was very badly outgunned; their plans wide open to inspection. Better yet, they now harboured not one, but _two_ potential traitors, because the Mechanic was not free of him, no matter what that robotic behemoth might choose to believe.

"By all means," purred the Hood, gazing out at the distant red disk that was Mars. "Come try to balk me again, International rescue. You shall find me more than prepared!"

Hearing the barmy old coot mumbling away behind her, again, Havok turned in her own seat to look at him.

"Talkin' to me, was you, Guv?" she enquired.

Off at the tech station, Fuse rolled his dark eyes. Couldn't accomplish that feat without making a rude noise, unfortunately. Then again, His Nibs was too loosely-packed in the grey-stuff to notice. So, there you were; Havok, stuck in the Cruiser with as daft a pair as ever fled lock-up. Toss in the Hood's special "cargo", and she was flying a ruddy lunatic bin.

"Hold your tongue and fly the ship!" her employer hissed, like a viper disturbed at his plotting. "We _must_ arrive before the Tracys do! We _must_ gain entry!"

"Aye, Guv. Just as you say," Havok grumped.

Rather sucked, it did, having to work for a living… but if their share of the take was as large as the Hood had promised, she and Fuse could pay off what they owed for all their equipment and implants. Then, they could turn to more lucrative crimes, instead of just ferrying nutters liked Hoodwink, back there.

For this reason, Havok flipped her brother another Milk Bar to quiet him, and poured on the speed. Things were about to get nasty… in the very best possible way.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, Hangar 3-_

The launch silo rang with talk and activity, as Scott snapped commands and planned strategy. Virgil was a major part of things. _Really._ He just also had a certain phone number stuck in his head. One that he needed to call, before all h*ll started slinging big globs of sh*t at the active volcano of Tracy existence.

Picking his moment, the big, dark-haired pilot ducked into a blast-shelter alcove, and whipped out his private phone. Wasn't supposed to have that during a mission, but, hey… what Scott didn't know, wouldn't hurt him, and Virgil had someone important to call. A scent, a touch, a half-recalled laugh, and a feeling. Emma Kraft, Union Jack's newly promoted captain. He knew her… and much more than that.

Looking swiftly around to be sure that no one was watching, Virgil punched numbers into the keypad. Waited what seemed like forever for the call to go through to her ship, then get relayed. She didn't pick up, at first, and the call clicked over to _'leave message'_. Well, y'know… ship's captains were busy. He got that. It's just…

 _beep!_

At the tone, Virgil started to talk, trying to make sense of a messed-up tangle of feelings and half-glimpsed impressions.

"Hey… it's me, Virgil Tracy. Um… we met after the Mechanic busted up the house, and you guys came over to help. I, uh… I know this is gonna sound funny, but I feel like there's more to us than just friendship, Angel. I feel like we're supposed to be… I dunno… _together._ So, I know you're busy, but I'm headed out on a mission, now, and…"

"Stop!" a woman's breathless voice jumped on the line, just as Virgil was starting to say his goodbyes. "Don't you dare ring off, Mister!"

"Emma?" he asked, beginning to smile. Stood up straighter, too, and ran a big hand lightly across his gelled hair, to be sure it was set right.

"Yeah. It's me. Sorry, had to leave the bridge and take it in private. Captain O'Bannon called, too, and she said… she said it was okay. That you… all of you guys… were safe, now. I just thought, I mean, maybe it's better if…"

"No," Virgil told her. "It's not better, and never will be, again, if you aren't part of my life, Em. There's, uh… some stuff I gotta tell you about, once I know more, myself, but, hey… I'm still the hottest guy you ever met, and you _know_ you want me."

The strangled sound on the other end could have been laughter, or the start of a sob. Maybe both.

"Confident, aren't you?" she teased, at last.

"When it comes to you, absolutely, Angel. Like I say, I got some stuff to handle, but I'll be happy to make your re-acquaintance, just as soon as you can get back here. I promise, it'll be earth-shaking."

"All that, huh?"

"And then some. I love you, Emma Kraft. I always will. Come on home, and let me prove it, again, and again, and…"

"Okay! Understood. Message received, Tracy. I don't make my own orders, but we'll find some excuse to slip Jack into port."

"Heh! And then, I'll slip…"

"Right! Gotta go; Admiral McBig-brass, on the other line. Love you, Taz. Stay safe, and come back in one piece."

Virgil grinned, leaning against the alcove's concrete wall like she was right there in front of him.

"Any special part you want back in one…"

"Union Jack, out!" she blurted, cutting the call.

All hot and bothered, now, Virgil took a second to get himself back under control. There was a definite swagger present, when he left that blast-alcove to rejoin the others. Mission _accomplished_.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Almost simultaneously, just thirty-one yards away to the right-_

John had had an idea. Two of them, really; one smarter than the other, but desperate times call for dumbass ploys, y'know? So, the astronaut strode over to where Scott was assigning teams, pointed upstairs and said,

"Fifteen minutes."

His brother scowled.

"Make it five," he ordered.

"Ten," countered John, prepared to become insubordinate, if he really had to. Luckily, Scott didn't push it.

"Ten," he agreed, adding, "Hurry."

No problem. John had already summoned the space elevator, which would have landed, by the time he got up to the pad.

"John," Eos asked him, as he was vaulting stairs, three at a time. "What are you doing?"

"Oh…" he panted, up there where the crowd noise was less, except for basic launch prep. "Just letting a genie out of his bottle, and hoping he isn't too pissed."

See, in this timeline, somehow, Jaeger had never been freed of that AI trap. He was still up there in Thunderbird 5's most secure, inaccessible lockdown, waiting for John M. Tracy to do something dumb. Eos' response was immediate, and predictable.

"John, are you certain that this course of action is wise? The Hunter's AI system is untested since capture. Releasing it could…"

"Make things worse _how,_ Pretty Girl? I'm betting he's the same basic guy, and that he remembers that other timeline, too."

His AI companion wasn't at all reassured; tightening the environment suit's grip on his shoulders like she wanted to give him a sound, proper shaking.

"John, what can Jaeger accomplish that I am unable to do for you?"

The red-haired astronaut paused at the grey metal surface-lift doors, saying,

"He's a battle computer, Sweetie. He thinks like a pre-conflict soldier, and he's willing to fight dirty."

 _"If_ he remains on our side, which is a highly questionable supposition, John Tracy."

Ouch. Full names now, huh? As the lift doors whooshed open, John lunged inside, swung himself around with one hand to the threshold, and then slammed a fist on the red, flashing 'up' button.

"I know what I'm doing, Beautiful, trust me. We need all the help we can get, and nobody's better at controlling machines and equipment, not even Kane."

The lift lurched into motion, flinging them rapidly upward.

"Another who must not be trusted!" Eos insisted, as the lift reached top, and John muscled its doors apart. Bent one, but, oh well… that's why Brains had repair mechs, right? John sprinted the short distance from lift to launch pad, where the space elevator was already waiting, hatch open wide.

"Go!" he snapped, diving within and nixing the preflight. "Go, go, go!"

"Once would suffice, John," she complained, as a very slight sting hit his neck. "Your cortisol and adrenaline levels are quite elevated. Administering re-uptake chemicals, now."

"No sedatives," he ordered, strapping in with one hand, and pulling up 5's main computer, with the other.

"No sedation," she agreed, as his heart calmed, and he _did_ begin feeling better. Admitted it, too.

"Thanks, Sweetie. Be ready to slam the lid back on, if I'm wrong… which I'm _not."_

"I shall prepare for the absolute worst. You do require a great deal of looking after, John. Whatever would you do, without me?"

John blinked. He'd never really thought about that. Then,

"I'd be lonely, again… and, yeah… probably dead by now. I'm glad you're here, Pretty Girl. You do good work, for a scrap of independent game code."

"And, for a mass of self-willed organic sludge laced with bubbling hormones, you manage quite well, also."

"Thanks, I think. Can we go any faster?"

The claws had released, as upstairs, the ring began spinning, reeling them home to the station.

"Certainly, John, provided you wish to arrive as an inch-high, bio-organic paste. Shall I increase speed?"

"Yeah. If I black out, wake me up. Long as I don't actually die, we're in business. Not in a hurry to go through that, again."

Because somewhere, like Schrodinger's unlucky cat, he was actually dead. Weird sensation. Like a cold, dark wall, with something distantly warm and… pulling at him… at the far side. The words to "Dead Man's Party" had never made more sense.

"Very well, John. Prepare yourself."

Eos increased their already serious speed, causing acceleration to crush down on John like a hammer. He didn't lose consciousness. Much. For very long. Just sort of mentally drifted, until they _thunked_ into place, capture was achieved, and Eos spiked him awake.

He was up and unstrapped before full consciousness took hold, pulling himself in through the hatch and then soaring straight for the station's centre. Would have spent more time enjoying his flight, but time was exactly what they did _not_ have, so John shot straight for the shielded main core, entered his ID, retinal scan, access code… the works.

Then came the moment when John had to open that cartridge-sized, red-blinking AI trap, and release what he hoped was a friend.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Downstairs, in hangar 3-_

Scott Tracy drummed his fingers, but didn't start yelling. John was right where he wanted him, anyhow. Just needed Thunderbird 5 ready to break orbit in a hurry, was all.

"Okay," he told them all. "Alan, you and I are in 3, with Gordon, Virgil and Kane. _We'll_ go after that cloaked intruder. John's in 5, and I want Captain Taylor and Kayo in there, with him. Brains, you, Grandma and Caleb 'll hold the fort, here. Need you coordinating the mission, and…"

All at once, Scott stopped talking over all of those clattering, self-assembling drones and out-gassing engines, because someone had entered the big, booming room.

Lady Penelope stood in the background, not speaking. Just looking at him. She'd given Bertie to Parker, but all that Scott could see was _her._ He took a step forward, but Penny was already running. Then she was in his arms, caressing the back of his head and neck, half-crying, half-whispering his name; soft and insistently moving against him. And, just like that, just for a little while, nothing else mattered but the woman he loved.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi! Me, being early for Monday, or late for Sunday, depending on where you are. ;) Thank you, as always, for reading and making my day with reviews.

 **7**

 _Thunderbird 5, in the big, central sphere-_

He hit "unlock", triggering a blinding cyclone of blood-coloured light. Between one startled heartbeat and the next, lashing whips of crimson energy shot from that opened AI trap to Thunderbird 5's main computer, its bulkheads and systems, even his spacesuit. Everything flickered in branching and streaming red light.

Eos screeched like a sped-up audio file and then fell silent. His suit contracted hard, crushing landslide-tight as, everywhere at once, rivets and bolts began spinning loose. John's helmet hung perfectly still in midair, just a foot or so out of reach. All around him, he could hear the screaming, rending sounds of Thunderbird 5 being taken apart at the seams.

Then, a glowing red line appeared in the venting air right before him. Vertical, like a strand of pure, molten wrath. _Jaeger._ The sensation of crushing increased, bending his ribs, and preventing all but the shallowest breaths. Alarms shrilled, rising in pitch as the station's atmosphere thinned. From the comm system, just for a moment, he heard Scott's voice, shouting,

 _"John!_ What th…?!" Then, it cut off, as that red line opened up like the fiery, slit-pupiled eye of a dragon. Black on the inside, edged round with flame. Gut-punch scary… and almost painfully beautiful.

Fading to black, last breath python-crushed from his body, John reached a hand out. Then, the station's destruction simply froze; seams open, stars visible through hundreds of crimson-edged cracks. And he heard/ felt/ thought,

 _-Was ist dein Ziel? -_

Archaic German. The Hunter was speaking German. Thinking was fuzzy, hypoxic, but meant… Meant "What is your purpose?"

Despite it all, John managed almost to laugh, gasping out,

"Ich bin einen Freund zu befreien." By which he wanted to say, "I am freeing a friend."

 _-Wir sind Freunde gewesen? -_ Jaeger boomed back, meaning, "We have been friends?" Almost more of a wondering statement than question.

"Ja, Jaeger. Wir sind Freunde." Because yes, they _had_ been friends, once upon an otherwhere… and maybe they'd be so, again. After a long quantum moment, the AI admitted,

 _-Ich erinnere mich…-_ "I remember…"

John hadn't entirely blacked out, when the pressure eased up at last, letting him breathe again. Slowly, that shooting red lightning retreated from Thunderbird 5's hull and systems; bled itself out of his suit. The station seemed to restructure itself; healing back up as alarms cut off, one by one.

John was gasping, sore-ribbed, but exhilarated, having once more played chicken with death, and won out.

"Need a favor, Buddy," he said, as Eos winked back to life and joined Scott in hammering questions. "…if you feel like kicking some ass."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Space, in the Chaos Cruiser-_

They were very close, Mars grown to the size of a grape in the viewscreen. That swarm of darting Interceptors had lifted from the planet's surface like a cloud of mosquitoes. They were about as effective, too, thanks to one of the Hood's secret weapons.

The defenders were flying blind, for the Chaos Cruiser was in stealth mode, and had taken evasive action. The Hood could have left his assailants to blunder around, but…

"Slow down, Havok," he told her. "Allow one of the GDF fighters to draw within thirty feet. I have a small test in mind."

Concerned now (for her own precious hide was at risk, as well as her brother's) the girl said,

"That's awfully close, y'r Hoodness. If we're detected, we'll not be able to dodge fire, nor avoid a collision."

The Hood was up and out of his seat, already; rubbing his pallid hands together like a housefly with aspirations.

"Idiot child!" the man snapped "You are paid to obey orders, not flaunt your abysmal ignorance! Be silent, and follow instructions!"

"Right," she muttered, wondering whether it'd make more sense to just space the blighter, then retrieve the frozen body and go through his pockets for loose change and credit. Might've done it, too, except that the first wave of Interceptors had arrived, and were setting up to weave a d*mn force-net.

Havok glanced over at Fuse, who was still puzzling away at his tech station scanner.

 _"That_ one," he announced, stabbing a sausage-thick, armoured finger into his 3D display. "It's comin' in at just the right speed n' angle to pull up alongside with, if you shaves a few klicks off y'r speed, 'Avok."

His sister nodded, saying,

"Aces. But have the gun ready, too, in case His Nibs' plan is as good as his bloody people skills."

Fuse took a moment to work that one out. Bloody great lummox needed an extra brain in his arse, like a stegosaur.

"Be ready to shoot," Havok clarified, speaking distinctly. "…if it get's closer than ten feet. Got it?"

Fuse nodded, massaging those tight, itchy white cornrows of his.

"Got it, 'Avok. Closer 'n ten feet, I blasts it!"

The Interceptor was a small, one-man fighter craft with a limited range, intended to deal with pirates and smugglers. Besides a decently powerful laser weapon, the pint-sized craft could link up with others of its sort to weave an entrapping force web. Vital trick, when you could not see your target.

That's what this one… Harrier 17… was trying to do with its expanding cloud of fellows. Only, the Hood had other plans. Reaching down into a cargo locker, he yanked one of his 'weapons' out of the narrow, cramped space. Couldn't have been comfortable, there, but life was tough all over, if you weren't strong enough to fight back.

Havok's focus was all on her flying, now. She'd cut her engines to kill their exhaust, which meant that they had f*ck-all maneuverability. The Interceptor was close enough that she could read its designation, and the pilot's bold-painted name: _Lt. Gin Reeves._ If the Interceptor so much as twitched, they'd be cabin mates, the girl figured.

"Ten feet, ten feet…" Fuse kept muttering; face screwed up like a prune, leaning close to his scanner, right finger curled on the gun trigger.

The fighter's lights winked red and green against its silvery hull and the velvet darkness of space. She could see the pilot inside, flipping switches and talking to one of her mates. Female, wearing a helmet and goggles, and some sort of spidery facial tattoo.

Behind them, the "boss" was wrestling someone quite small and clumsy… sleepwalker-y… up to the portside bulkhead. Havok's neck hairs prickled. She got that danger sensation, all down her spine and her arms.

 _"Now!"_ the Hood snarled, just about slamming his captive into the hard metal bulkhead. "Strike now!" Power flared out, channeled by one of them bloody GDF 'Asset Control' collars.

Wasn't sure what made her do it. Maybe light on the Interceptor's hull, a plucky tattoo, or disgust with the Hood, but all at once, Havok made up her mind to cause trouble. She triggered the Cruiser's engines, blasting far away from the Hood's chosen prey. Not before the fighter craft's tail fins and nav-cluster corroded away, leaving the ship and its pilot stranded. Helpless. Not before a crying child was slammed into the bulkhead twice more, as the Hood cursed and raged at them all. There'd be h*ll to pay later, thought Havok, but sometimes, the chaos was worth it.


	8. Chapter 8

Late, again. :') Sorry... Life, you know? As always, many thanks to Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Whirl Girl, Guest and Akimakel, and to _you,_ for reading. Hugs!

Edited. Please forgive the sloppy, earlier version. Never good to post in a hurry...

 **8**

 _Space, between Earth and Mars, inside the Chaos Cruiser-_

Balked in his scheme, the Hood had become a raging terror; snarling threats and spittle-flung curses. Worse, Havok could feel a growing, headache-like pressure in her skull, as though the wild-eyed madman was trying to batter his way inside. She could feel her implants buzzing and crackling, trying to compensate, while her armour's protective forcefield sparked up.

Fuse lurched out of his seat. A problem, because her brother rarely thought through his actions, and was like as not to punch a hole in the hull, trying to swat the d*mn Hood.

"Imbecile!" hissed the old sod. "Moron! Are you completely incapable of comprehending the _simplest_ instruction?!"

There were flashing lights in her vision, and a sharp, blazing pain in her head, like someone 'd set to work in there with acid and knives. A nosebleed sprang up, spraying droplets of red like a firehose. These didn't fall, but spread.

"Oy!" shouted Fuse, wind-milling his way across the cabin like a ruddy great zero-G bear. "Leave off!"

As it was only his second time in space, though, he wasn't much of a threat; swinging at the Hood with big, armoured fists, while the bald lunatic fended him off with that collared and whimpering time-bender.

Meanwhile, the Interceptor fleet had picked up the Cruiser's exhaust, and was closing in fast. Their sweeping target lock scans sliced past the Cruiser again and again, setting off contact alarms, every time.

 _"Cloaked vessel, you have entered a Global Defense Force no-fly zone. You are hereby ordered to reveal yourself, and reverse course. If this directive is not obeyed, by order of Mars Command, we will open fire. Acknowledge, cloaked vessel! You have entered…"_

Up ahead, something truly gigantic… huge, dark and lifeless… tumbled slowly through space; packed with invisible death. Havok's brain felt ready to melt and run out through her ears. Couldn't bloody well _see_ , much less fly their ship. Behind her, Fuse bellowed like a mired ox and swung hard for the Hood, who pushed his frail human shield up between them.

Her brother's metal-clad fist struck the child's face, splitting his lip, then shooting on past to bash the Hood. Havok was strapped down. The other three ricocheted wildly around the cabin as screaming alarms tore the air, and…

Everything stopped. A sudden flare of terror-fed power shot from that small, collared boy. And, all at once, everything around him froze; locked up in time. He could not know that his outburst had caught and paralyzed another Interceptor, or that the Chaos Cruiser was on a collision course with a giant, alien derelict. All he knew was pain and fear. All he could do was cry, and reach out for help.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, hangar 3-_

Scott struggled to calm himself. To accept John's word that the _'catastrophic failure'_ alert from Thunderbird 5 had been only a false alarm.

"You… bumped something," he repeated carefully, while Penny and Kayo ran scan after scan of the station, and Lee got his gear together for a hurry-up rescue mission.

"Yeah," said his brother's glowing holo, with a slight, rueful smile. "I was in a hurry, and I accidentally triggered the code-red evac drill. Sorry. That one's a little too realistic, maybe."

Scott's gem-blue eyes narrowed. Captain Taylor was already halfway to the elevator pad with Kane, who had been summoning metal and drones from all over the hangar, building himself a powerful space shuttle. John _looked_ alright, but…

"How would you like some of Grandma's cookies?" Scott asked him, craftily.

His brother's image blinked sea-green eyes. Then, seeming to look around himself,

"Is that a trick question, Scott? I mean, if she's there _with_ you… sure I'd love some. If not, I'd rather have brain surgery with a pickax."

"I heard that!"

Caught, John winced.

"Sorry, Grandma. Hope there's fifty in the next care package."

Scott felt himself relax a little. Even chuckled, as some of the tension drained out of him, and Grandma stomped off to join Lee.

"Better stay upstairs for a while, Buddy," he joked, giving the all clear. "You've gone and upset the cook."

John cocked a red-golden eyebrow.

"What? No chocolate-char cookies or vegetable whip? My life has no meaning."

"Smart-ass. Did you accomplish what you needed to, up there?" Scott asked him, putting an arm around Lady Penelope. She'd closed her eyes and was rubbing her lovely face against his chest.

"Yeah. All sorted. Sending the elevator back down for my passengers."

For just a moment, Scott wanted to ask more questions… only, it wouldn't have done any good. When forced to explain himself, John would just shift into techno-speak so dense that even Brains had trouble keeping up.

Glancing over at Kayo, who was still at the scan station with their 'onsite liaison', Scott mouthed, _"Everything okay?"_

His sister nodded; eyes bright, cheeks flushed, lips sort of full-bitten red. Not a look he was accustomed to seeing from a girl who'd bench-pressed and head-locked more men than she'd kissed.

"He's fine, Scott," she said, very quietly, "and the station looks better than new. You know John. He probably ran a secret refit, or something, and forgot to turn off the alarms."

"Okay," said Scott, trying to simultaneously smile at his little sister, and transfix Rigby with icy daggers of _'touch her and die'._

Turning to regard the group at large, he said,

"Right. Let's do this. Kay, go topside with Captain Taylor, and get to the station. If our joyriders make it past the GDF _and_ us, if they trigger that death ship, you guys 'll be Earth's first line of defense. Brains, Moffy, Grandma and Caleb will back you up, from here. Pen… you can do the most good from London. I mean, I wish I could keep you here with me, but…"

She smiled at him; golden blonde and porcelain-fair.

"I comprehend perfectly, Dearest," Penny whispered, tiptoeing up to kiss him. "And I will do my bit for the cause, by keeping the World Council out of your way."

Scott snuggled her close for a moment, kissing the top of her head. Just for the h*ll of it, he said,

"Find out from your dad when we can come in and see him, Penny. I'd, um… like to ask him a very important question."

Then, leaving her doe-eyed and startled, Scott turned to his brothers and said,

"Saddle up, you three. Find Machine-man, too, while you're at it. I mean to launch in the next five minutes."

Given their marching orders, everyone started to hustle, except for…

"You okay, Gordon?"

The aquanaut was just sort of standing there, staring off into space. Scott reached over to grab his brother's muscular shoulder and give him a friendly shake. "Hey, Tadpole… snap out of it!"

"Huh?" the swimmer gave a sudden, shocked start, as though Scott had ejected him from some sort of unpleasant day-mare.

"We've got to get moving, Gordon. Shake it off, and let's go."

Gordon was the shortest of his brothers, and nearly the youngest, but he had muscles to rival Virge, and a scruffy-looking, reddish-blond beard just coming in. His wide hazel eyes looked… pained. Haunted, or something. Headache? Scott certainly understood those. Nothing that being up in the sky wouldn't fix. As if thinking the same thing, Gordon half-whispered,

"Right. Sorry, Scott. I'm… it's fine."

The pilot gave him a hearty, encouraging backslap, then followed his brother across the noisy hangar to Thunderbird 3's boarding gantry.

"That's what I like to hear," he said, unconsciously echoing dad.

Shortly afterward, Alan and Scott strapped into their seats, and triggered the space ship's launch sequence. Over their heads, the silo's wide metal hatch spiraled open, letting in dayshine and mist. Alarms and warning lights blared. Maintenance bots scuttled into their bolt holes. Then, 3's engines howled to life, as she roared from her launch pad and out through the ring house; vaulting to space on a wild-orange column of flame.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry about yesterday. Was busy cleaning out Mum's house. Thanks for reviewing, guys. Will respond forthwith, I promise. :')

 **9**

 _Thunderbird 3, down in the cavernous, brightly-lit hold:_

Virgil Tracy was hard at work in zero-G, putting together a space-rated pod vehicle. Alone, because Gordon was out there on weapons and Mega-Max.

"What're we gonna need?" the dark-haired cargo pilot had asked Scott (once he'd mastered his own swooping and heavering guts, that is).

The field commander thought for a moment, looked up from the copilot's seat, and shrugged.

"You're the expert, Virge," he'd said. "Use your imagination. Surprise me."

Yeah. Just needed something that could cross miles of hard vacuum in the middle of a space pirate/ GDF dogfight, and still face up to a ship-load of bloodthirsty alien nanites. No pressure, at all.

Down in the hold, now, Virgil began with your basic, bright yellow chassis, souped up the shielding and windows, added an airlock, then programmed six spidery limbs, thinking: _The best defense is a good offense._

Then drifted backward to watch, as laser cutters and grasping claws were attached to the nascent vehicle by long-armed industrial robots. The finishing touches were a small, but powerful, ion drive and a nuclear energy source.

For fifteen minutes, maybe, the hold rang with clanging, whirring and pounding noises. Just another kind of music, to which Virgil added background humming and ribald, catchy lyrics. He'd just made up the second verse, when he became aware that he wasn't alone in the hold, anymore. Kane had wandered down, too; actually walking, because his cyborg limbs reflexively altered their magnetic field to grip and release surrounding metal. Nice trick.

"What are you doing?" the Mechanic demanded, looking around at all that activity. Feeling sort of vulnerable just floating there, Virgil said,

"Singing."

"Not that. Your random noise doesn't interest me. Why are you building a drone, that way?"

As if to demonstrate his own superiority, the big, tattooed cyborg stretched a hand out and concentrated. All over the hold, tools, mechs and bits of odd metal came flying at his call, assembling themselves into something about the size of Virgil's forearm. When complete, it looked like a saw-bladed, pocket knife preying mantis. The thing glowed briefly, stared at Kane as if imprinting on its creator, and beeped a few times. Then it skittered over his arm and onto the cyborg's broad shoulders. A drone. He'd created a battle-drone, just like that.

"My way's better," Kane grunted.

Virgil didn't answer immediately. Just hung there in midair, still watching his own loudly developing pod vehicle. Then, eaten alive by curiosity, he asked,

"That's your, um… 'power'? Building things and making them come alive? I thought it was being a cyborg."

They weren't looking at each other, but it was the closest they'd ever come to an actual conversation. Said Kane,

"They relate. I was implanted at 'birth' by the Mother of Cyborgs. I control my circuitry, like I do any other machine. Build whatever parts I need, bring them alive, and attach them."

 _Huh._

"Regular people can't do that…" Virgil mused aloud, rubbing at his own bluish beard-shadow. "But John's got some circuits; from the suit, I think. That's part of the reason he's out of the Space Corps, now. That crap's illegal."

The Mechanic shrugged, sounding like a low-speed shopping cart crash.

"You lot are so cross-bred, it's no shock you're developing freak abilities," he rumbled, watching Virgil's space pod come slowly together.

The small craft was nearly finished. They'd be ready to go on his end, in no time at all. Even with Brains' experimental Mass-Transfer Field in place, though, it was going to take an hour or two to reach the no-fly zone. Time enough to go back to a sore point, and pick at a scab.

"You said that all of those families rebelled. Killed their handlers. _We_ didn't… did we? Kill anyone?"

The Mechanic turned his head slightly to gaze at Virgil, who still hung drifting and bobbing at the whim of gesture and current. Kane's expression was genuinely baffled, his amber eyes narrow.

"Why does it matter? They breed like roaches. Kill one, ten thousand more scuttle for safety."

Virgil scowled, reaching for a very important idea.

"Because the way _we_ are now, came from dad and mom… from Granddad and Grandma, all the way back to that… 'cell-line' Tracy you were talking about, Kane. If _we_ wouldn't do that, now, I bet _he_ wouldn't have, then. Bet they picked him for athletic skills and good looks, not killer instinct."

The Mechanic grunted; the noise a cross between prize bull and steam engine.

"The way you are is _dead,_ soon enough," he remarked. "The other families are getting angry, and those vermin you mate with won't be able to pro… _Wait."_

The Mechanic's gaze seemed to un-focus momentarily. Then, with maybe a touch less arrogant confidence, he said,

"I am summoned," and left the hold, using his magnetizable limbs to just walk right on out of there. _Really_ nice trick.

Leaving Virgil to practice magno-walking, Kane made his way to a storage locker. Needed no palmprint or code to get in, because there was nothing on that Bird that would resist him, if he chose to command it. The call was another matter, entirely. Private, and potentially somewhat embarrassing. Briefly considered ignoring the message… only, the threat they all faced wouldn't let him. So, into the locker with Kane; where, hatch tightly closed, he selected: _receive._

"Madame," he growled, making a very slight nod when the Kane's image appeared before him; half gleaming chrome, half lovely woman.

"Evan," she replied, in a voice like clashing metal and static. "Where are you?"

It was very difficult for one cyborg to completely hide from the others. They were networked to such a degree that even encryption would only provide so much cover. Now, he'd left Earth, though. He'd gone pretty far out of the comm web.

"I am in Thunderbird 3," he admitted.

The Kane's dark eyebrow lifted, on her meat side. On the other, that red-glowing eye gained partial target-lock.

"You have attacked the Tracys?" she asked him, uneasily.

"No." A short response, because he did not wish to tell her the truth.

"You stole their spacecraft?" The Kane probed. Concerned about the accord, most likely.

"No, Madame. I am… a passenger."

And then he explained, as briefly as possible, the threat posed by that alien derelict and its cargo of nanite 'dust'.

"It is not my place to suggest it," the Mechanic went on, in a grudging rumble, "but a meeting might prove… helpful."

Gail Kane's face was not terribly expressive. He detected deep unease and concern, however. Soon, that feeling would spread to his sisters.

"The Tracys would be unwelcome, while the Dos Santos are nearly gone," she objected, sounding like an old-style and badly-tuned radio.

"The time benders have been hunted almost to extinction," he agreed, having accounted for several, himself. "Except, there may be no choice but cooperation, Madame. This thing is too much for the Tracys, I think, even with _my_ help."

She looked at him, reaching out to strengthen their link with a few cautious pings. The Mechanic allowed it, for the first time since earning his name.

"I will call," she said, "and we shall see who comes. For now, do nothing to risk your continued existence, Evan. You have great value."

Some of that Tracy foolishness was rubbing off on him, Kane supposed. Otherwise, those words wouldn't have resonated so deeply.

In any case, it was a confused and truculent Mechanic who signed off and pushed his way out of that storage locker. He had strategy to plan, and, unfortunately… only _this_ mongrel lot to plan it with. Decided to head back and speak with the least offensive cur; Virgil Tracy.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Outside of Thunderbird 3, up to his elbows in Mega-Max:_

The Higgs Boson Mass-Transfer Field created rippling patterns of coloured light, almost obscuring Mars, and those diamond-chip stars. Gordon had never seen anything like it, but he was too busy, too heart-sick, to pay much attention.

Something was wrong, and he could feel it right down to his bones; what he'd always jokingly called his "squid sense". Like he'd left somebody behind, or forgotten them, somewhere. He could still half-hear that crying sound; intermittent, now, and getting fainter.

Had he been one of his own rescued patients, Gordon would have suspected a concussion, or lack of sleep, but… maybe there was another answer? Maybe that timeline shift had left someone stranded? Somebody no one but _him_ still remembered? He just didn't know, and the worry was killing him. John or Brains could've answered that question. _He_ was just lunk-headed muscle; IR's subsurface rescue guy and part-time field medic.

Driven to hurry, Gordon Tracy worked; zipping around the outside of Thunderbird 3 like a seagull. Only, instead of diving for chum, he was adding power-packs and ruby lenses to Mega-Max, increasing the range and force of the robot's laser.

At one point, a sort of red, specular glow flared over Max, and the rocket ship, too. Even Gordon's helmet and pressure suit got the treatment, which was halfway familiar, and seemed to do nothing at all… at first.

"How's it coming out there, Gordon?" Scott called over the helmet comm (from both sides at once, which was kind of disorienting).

"Almost done," the swimmer promised, pausing in his darting repair flight long enough to wave at his brothers, on the other side of that long row of windows. "Two more power-packs, and Mega-Max, here, could drill through the Moon."

"Heh!" Alan chortled. "He could make a rapid-transit tunnel for Captain Taylor! Think we could see it from Earth?"

"Um… probably not, Bro. 240,000 miles is pretty far."

Al was a great guy, but, sometimes… yeah. He didn't make a whole lot of sense. Scott took the conversation back, saying,

"Virgil's got the space-pod done, and we'll be cutting speed in about thirty minutes, Gordon. Need you back inside, before we start encountering battle debris. Pete says they haven't nailed our intruder, yet, so I'm planning to fire chaff and just outline it for Al's grappling arms."

Inside of his helmet, Gordon nodded.

"Gotcha. Guess the pirate ship can't be very big, or those Interceptors would've snagged it, by now." Which was sort of weird, because pirates liked size, in his experience.

Locking that last massive power-pack into place, Gordon snapped down the cover and received a grateful lights-show from Max. Some of that sparkling red stuff followed his hand like static, as he gave the robot a quick thumbs-up. One of Max's big white lens covers drooped in a ponderous wink.

"You're welcome, Pal," Gordon told him.

Twenty-five minutes to go, so he tidied up, and then followed his thin, sparking tether back to the airlock. For no special reason, except that it mattered, he thought: _Hang on, Big Guy. We're coming._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Mars Base, 2 AM local time, at the domed command centre-_

Vice Admiral McCord leaned across his comm officer's left shoulder to look at the screen. Still nothing. No ship, no explosion, no response to their hails. And yet, the intruder was out there. He had two downed Interceptors, a fading ion exhaust trail and mass anomalies to prove it. Also had a giant, Earth-crossing impactor, about to pass Deimos. The entire, crowded command centre crackled with tension.

The comm officer, a youngish guy with dark skin and brown eyes, ventured,

"Sir… shall I recall the Interceptors?"

 _They_ were clearly visible on the comm screen as a cloud of blinking green dots, now dangerously close to that derelict alien ship.

Pete straightened up. This far from Earth, he wasn't paid to consult, or call home for permission. He was expected to make his own d*mn decisions, and be ready to face a tribunal, if his choices turned out to be wrong.

He was also a short, balding, red-haired and foul-mouthed firecracker of a man, and the best d*mn officer the GDF Navy could boast. Now, he said,

"Tell 'em to drop back five-thousand klicks, and make a broad aisle… then, shut down the station on Deimos. No signal, no power, until I give the all-clear. We'll power-down here, as well. Defcon 2, Lieutenant. Bare minimums across the board, and total silence."

"Yes, Sir," the kid responded, switching GDF defcon settings to orange: _imminent threat._

As all around him, lights dimmed, and screens went dark, Pete moved to the shielded dome's wide, perma-glass window. He wanted a look at that sonuvabitch, which early sensor tracks had placed right about… _there._

"Holy sh*t," McCord whispered, watching the stars black out behind something almost impossibly huge and slowly tumbling. Like someone had flung a giant, slow-spinning dagger, aimed straight for the Earth. Mass sensors weren't operational, but they all _felt_ it pass by. Felt its pull, like a strange, too-close dark moon.

Forgetting silence, the base commander pivoted to face his wide-eyed comm officer, barking,

"Gates, recall my fighters, _now._ The h*ll with that pirate ship… have the squadron retreat and re-muster out on the far side. Point Alpha."

"Yessir!" The kid was already on it. Probably 'd had his finger just over the comm button, waiting. For that matter, his gunners were doing the same, both straining like Dobermans fighting their chain to attack. Looking up from his station, Gates asked,

"The two downed Interceptors, Sir? Captain Li wants permission to tow, Admiral. At least one of the pilots is still alive in there, Sir."

 _Dammit_. There was no time to think. No time to dither. Those fighters were speedy sons of bitches, but they hadn't much tow-power. Muttering,

"Where the f*ck's International Rescue?" Pete made up his mind.

"Yeah," he said. "Give the go-ahead for S&R, then get me Thunderbird 5. Priority line, shielded channel."


	10. Chapter 10

'Allo, again! =) Many 'thank you', Tikatu, Thunderbird Shadow, Whirl Girl and Bow Echo, for your kind and helpful reviews. Edited more.

 **10**

 _Thunderbird 5, making ready-_

The main problem wasn't aerodynamics; up here, that didn't matter. Without air to resist, the station could've been shaped like a giant video-game controller or cheeseburger, for all the difference it made to his speed and maneuverability. Plus, the force shields could be shaped and angled any way he wanted them to.

No, the real problem was inertia, and thrust. Thunderbird 5 was just _big_ , with enough power to alter her orbit on command, but not (until now) to completely leave Earth. Not even if (as Caleb suggested) he programmed up enough elevator cable to grapple the Moon and then reeled himself in. High marks for creativity, though.

What he needed was power. An engine upgrade, or ten. Well... that's why Dad had hired Brains, whose thought processes were as far outside the envelope… h*ll, outside the whole mailbox… as John's. In very short order, the astronaut had taken delivery of three massive new engines, and a Mass-Transfer Field generator. Also, a crap-ton of maintenance bots.

His serene retreat had become a construction zone, less all the coffee breaks and speed traps. John himself, with Kayo and Captain Taylor, was as busy as an emergency room doctor on New Year's Eve night. Seemed like _everything, everywhere,_ needed attention. Then, he received a priority call from Mars.

He'd been out on the hull, directing placement of a giant new engine, while his sister and Lee got it hooked up and linked from within. Tricky, delicate business, for all that the nuclear thruster had the mass of an old NASA space shuttle. Eos helped, sort of grudgingly. She was still mad about that stuff with Jaeger. Then,

"John, you have a priority one call, from Mars. It is tightly encrypted."

Signaling the skittering maintenance bots to take a break, John pushed off the hull and drifted to the end of his tether. Like the bots, he positioned himself in the station's shadow, because that unfiltered sunlight was fierce.

"Okay, Sweetie. Open channel," he told his AI companion, shaking his head a little and blinking, to clear away sweat.

His heads-up display showed that the signal was brief and high-energy, coded on the spin-states of a very short gamma ray stream. Fancy. Looked like the chirp of a distant star… unless you knew what it was. Lot of trouble for an address and two words: _Get them. 2125 Reedy Court Lane, Saginaw Michigan, UST._

"John, this address corresponds to…"

"I know where that is, Eos," John cut her off, recognizing Pete's old house, where the base commander's former wife and teenaged daughter still lived. A long time ago, there had been barbeques and pool parties there, which he'd mostly experienced from a lofty perch on Lee's shoulders, or Pete's, while Scott hung out with Dad. Just sitting up there as a very young child, learning space. Learning astronaut. Refusing to fall asleep, or to go with his mother, when she came out there to get him.

And now, his friend and former commander wanted John to find his ex-wife and firebrand daughter. On a hunch, he checked the derelict's trajectory. Saw that it was just now passing the Deimos space weather outpost, and Mars. Thunderbird 3 was about ten minutes out, but the no-fly zone intruder hadn't been caught, yet.

"Shall I send a response, John?" Eos prompted, impatient with his organically limited processing time.

"Yeah," he decided. "Highest encryption: _Will do._ Then, get a team out there to the Territories, and snag Aunt Helen and Stephanie. Use my image and voice, if you have to, Eos."

"Yes, John. Where shall Helen Klein- Stephanie Rae McCord be taken?"

Good question. Things were getting pretty tight, on the Island.

"For now, have them brought to the Ranch. Tell them… tell them the horses need exercise, or something. Keep it light, but make sure they hurry. Pete's worried, and that's not a good sign." As in, major, double-plus not good.

"Understood, John. I shall proceed with casual tone, and great speed."

"I know, Pretty Girl."

John smiled, aware that she'd read his biochemistry and neural flow, picking up nothing but confidence. As Thunderbird 5 orbited, turning along with the Earth and John, the station's shadow changed; shrinking away like a puddle at noon. On sudden impulse, he called Dr. Hackenbacker over the helmet-comm.

"Y- Yes, my friend? W- What is it?" said the engineer, picking up straightaway.

"Hey. Help me think something through, here, Brains. The Mass Transfer Field works by channeling Higgs Bosons from a relativistically moving object, out to its surroundings… right?"

He could _feel_ the engineer flinch.

"Well… minus a great deal of t- technical detail and, ah… and m- mathematics, that is essentially c- correct, John." Brains huffed. He _liked_ his equations and data. Looking at Thunderbird 5, hanging up there in silhouette while the blue-white Earth turned below, John said,

"Okay… so space is expanding faster than light, and the galaxy's moving along pretty quick, too. That ought to be generating an ass-load of virtual mass and dark energy."

"Indeed. Why does, ah… does th- this interest you, M- My Friend?"

"Because," John's words increased in pace, as his second idea grew clearer. "If you reversed flow on your field, Brains, you could transfer enough virtual mass to pop something right the h*ll out of the universe, though an artificial singularity. I mean… couldn't you? The energy's out there, isn't it?"

The terminator's black, curving blade had just appeared at Earth's edge. Brains was quiet a while, making John worry that he'd lost their connection, or just rung off in contempt. Then,

"Y- Y- You are theoretically c- correct, John! Th- There is, ah… is n- no reason why the f- f- field may not be adapted to flow in r- reverse. Parity! The maths work, in either direction!"

John nodded, watching darkness glide across the face of the Earth, and millions of tiny lights begin sparkling on like a scatter of diamonds.

"So, if someone switches a few settings on the generator, out on 3, and then gets it transferred over to that potential impactor…"

"W- We might increase its mass p- past the Schwarzschild limit, creating a m- mini black hole and, ah… and d- destroying the alien v- vessel. John, m- my very good friend, if you were here, I would k- kiss you!"

The astronaut laughed, a very rare thing, indeed.

"Thanks, but I'd prefer a few frozen pizzas, instead. No mushrooms. They're slimy."

There _was_ a suspicious noise over his helmet comm, which John suspected was Dr. Hackenbacker being soundly kissed by his fiancée, Professor Moffat.

"Work first," he reminded them, with mock, Scott-like severity. "Party later. Those equations won't solve themselves… but I bet you Pete would be glad to perform a wedding ceremony, once you guys save the world."

There was momentary silence, a few urgent whispers, and then Brains said,

"Y- You will stand up with, ah… with m- me? Be, as they s- say, 'best man'?"

He could hear Moffy, crying and laughing in the background.

"Glad to. Eos, I need a ring." Because, it was going to work. It _had_ to.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 3, approaching Mars, the derelict, and a swarm of departing fighters-_

Most of those Interceptors had taken off for the backside of Mars like slim, darting mosquitos. Two, including the squadron commander, were still in the hurtling derelict's path; trying hard to tow their comrades to safety. Wasn't going well. Too slow. Mars Base was completely shut down, for safety's sake. There'd be no help from that quarter. Too many lives at stake.

Scott turned away from the comm screen to glance at his middle brother, floating there with one hand on the steel seat frame.

"Virge, suit up, get out there and push," he said.

The cargo pilot gave him a brief, fierce grin, saying,

"International Tow-line, to the rescue! I'm one it, Scott." And he was, flip-turning in midair and then pushing off for the pod bay, again.

While that happened, Scott half-turned his head, trying to look at both the huge, tumbling cliff of an alien nightmare, and Alan.

"Al, I want you to track the last of that ion exhaust, then fire as much chaff as you can, in its projected path. Carefully, though. We don't want to wake anything up, in there."

"Gotcha, Scott. I'll be so quiet, you could hear a virus sneeze," his blond, eager brother responded. Mind already elsewhere, Scott barely grunted. Didn't realize he was supposed to be playing along.

"See," Alan pouted, "If you were John, you'd have said: _Viral particles don't sneeze, Alan…_ And then I'd come back with: _Sure, they do, John. They're germs. They're_ _always_ _sick, just like credits are rich, and water's wet._ _Duh_ _."_

Really needing to think, Scott Tracy shot his youngest brother a withering stare and growled,

"Mind on the mission, Alan. This is serious."

"Okay. Sorry. My bad," the kid sighed. "Firing chaff… _now."_

But Scott had already hit his comm, using short-range and quiet mode.

"Gordon, as soon as we spot our pirate ship/ news crew, we're going in, locking hatches, and boarding. You and… and Kane. Get in, grab our nosy tourists, get out. Understood? I'll be standing by with restraints, if arrest turns out to be necessary."

"F-A-B, Scott. On our way to the docking hatch."

Scott nodded, although the swimmer couldn't see him, as they were using minimum comm; voice only.

"Take care in there, and be ready for anything," he ordered, already unstrapping to rise. Heard the low, quivering boom and chuff of a million tiny foil bits shooting off into space. _Stage one initiated_ , he thought.

Thunderbird 3 didn't have any actual cells, but he figured that a storage locker would work, if that intruding ship turned out to be full of hostile, armed pirates. See, not everyone they rescued was happy to see them. One time, on this prison colony…

"Scott, I think I got something!" Alan called out, excitedly. _Bingo._

The pilot swung himself back around with one hand to a bulkhead brace. Sure enough, looking out through the cockpit windows, he saw a blizzard of twinkling foil snow, except in one place. Not big at all… sort of familiar in shape; although, for the life of him, Scott couldn't quite place it.

"Good job, Al. Get us into docking position. Nice and easy. Our very large friend is still asleep, and I'd like it to stay that way."

They were already feeling the effects of that tremendous mass; like a partial return of gravity. Virgil had launched, he noticed, and was making his way toward the slower tow-pair; the one nearest that alien derelict. Up close, like this, the thing was dark, enormous and viciously meteor-scarred. Completely offline, but…

"Be careful, Virge," Scott whispered, giving Alan's thin shoulder a quick, 'nice work' pat. Couldn't stay to watch, though. Too much work to do, elsewhere. That's why he wasn't in the cockpit, when Brains' message came through.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 3, in the docking bay-_

They hadn't hailed or scanned. Waste of time, with a cloaked ship. Meant that Gordon Tracy had no idea what he was going to find on the other side of that hatch. Wasn't too sure about this side, either, come to think on it.

"Let me go first," he said to the Mechanic, who was standing on the deck like he couldn't be bothered with micro-G. Kane wasn't wearing a spacesuit, exactly. Just what looked like a thick coating of transparent plastic. Gordon had no idea where _that_ had come from. Maybe the arrogant cyborg exuded the stuff? There was a drone on his shoulder, too, giving Gordon the multiple side-eye.

"Go ahead," rumbled the Mechanic, making a sardonic, 'be my guest' gesture. "You lot are interchangeable. Something happens, you won't be missed."

Gordon stiffened a little. Smiled, saying,

"Maybe not you, but the ladies...? They'd _never_ get over my loss." Even managed a wink.

Kane just snorted. Gordon could've said more, but decided against it. Too tense… too hurry-up-worried, anyhow. Just waited impatiently, while Alan brought the two ships in close, lined up with an airlock, and then docked them. Not easy to do, working mostly blind, like that.

There was a certain amount of jarring and thumping, before the airlock's status panel turned green, and issued a friendly chime. Gordon keyed open the docking bay's outer hatch, then led their way through a tunnel of heavy, metalized fabric to the other ship's sealed and invisible port. Seriously, all you could see on the other end of that boarding tunnel was space, a sliver of Mars, and that lumbering derelict.

From habit, the aquanaut turned his head a little to give a quick grin and thumbs-up. Then, recalling who he was in there with, Gordon just cleared his throat and said,

"We're go for entry. Give me ten minutes, then follow, unless you hear shooting, or something."

Kane grunted, which Gordon decided to take as a 'yes'. A little work with his specially patented, Aloysius Parker multi-tool would soon…

"Out of the way, mongrel," growled the Mechanic, slamming a big, plastic-slick hand to that unseen hatch. A moment's concentration, and both portals just cycled on open for him.

"Or, y'know… you could do that," Gordon half-joked. Was really one helluva glad to get into the other ship, because… pirates or newshounds… its inmates couldn't be any less friendly than Kane.

A cloaked ship from outside was rippley-invisible; inside, though, this one was smallish, sort of purple, and… and… Oh, _crap._ All the crap. Multi-crap. As John might've put it: Double-plus _sh*t._

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _In the space pod, between Thunderbird 3 and the oncoming alien vessel-_

Virgil Tracy was an expert pilot. Could fly anything with wings, and some things without. More than that, he was a courageous young man, who'd been raised to put others first, every time.

Maybe somewhere, deep down inside, he was pissing himself over the size of that silent, dark monster, but he didn't show it. Instead, Virgil climbed into his own sturdy handiwork, left Thunderbird 3 and made himself useful (as Grandma would say). Zipped on over to the farthest pair of Interceptors, and waved.

Safer not to use comm this close to the impactor, Virgil decided, but he cut near enough to the see inside the towing fighter craft's cockpit, and try sign language. The other pilot waved back, as Virgil said,

"Somebody call for a tow?"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 3-_

Alan sat back in the pilot's seat, blinking in shock. He was… legitly… flying the most dangerous mission, like, _ever,_ and Brains wanted him to just drop everything and go fix the dang generator. Seriously?

"Um… well… I'm kinda busy not getting everyone killed right now, Brains," he explained, trying hard to sound reasonable. Scott, he was pretty sure, would've just yelled. _'What?!_ _Blah, blah, blah, fill-in-the-blank, the thing, the thing, responsibility!'_ Like that, and Hackenbacker would have just withered. Only, it was Alan, not Scott, so the engineer kept on trying, over a tight-beam, encoded channel.

"Th- This is of utmost importance, Alan! By, ah… By r- reversing the field, we may be able to, ah… to m- make the artefact so massive that it b- becomes a smallish black h- hole."

"Uh…" said Alan alertly, fighting the derelict's pull on Virgil with a touch of tractor beam. "Kinda don't see how that's a win for our side, Brains. I'm already circling the drain out here, trying not to let Virgil get flushed."

"Th- Thank you for the indelible imagery, Alan. N- Now, you must switch to autopilot, go, ah… go d- down to engineering and follow the instructions I s- sent."

"Okay, see…"

"P- Perfect. I shall b- be in touch," said Brains, sounding all kinds of smiley. And then, just like that, he cut comm.

Great. Super. Just frickin' _awesome!_ Had Virgil on the one hand, busting his butt trying to tow crippled fighters out of the way of a dangerous alien artefact. Had Gordon on the other, in a cloaked pirate ship with the dang _Mechanic_. And Scott… Wait a minute. _Yeah…_ Scott.

Turning his head over one skinny shoulder, Alan yelled,

"Hey, Scott, need you to take the wheel for a minute, Bro!"

From back in the hold, very faintly, he heard,

"Told you to go before we left!"

Alan reddened to the tips of his big ears.

"Dang it, Scott!" he roared, too tense to consider his own actions. "Would you forget I'm seventeen for a second, and just frickin' _listen?!_ Brains has another job for us! Now, you can go back to the generator, try to read all his fine print and not lose any screws… or you can fly! Your choice, Dude."

Which was no choice at all, really. After a second or two, Scott soared back into the cockpit, almost sparking with shock.

"Did you just yell at me?" he demanded. Not angry, just disbelieving.

"I raised my voice," Alan admitted, sucking up major Fruit-of-the-Loom with the ol' nuclear butt-cheek clench.

"You yelled," Scott corrected. Then, surprisingly, he just laughed it off, saying, "Okay, Al. Go do what you have to, until Gordon calls in. I got this."

Alan's sky-blue eyes widened. So… like… he _wasn't_ dead meat? Confined to eternal quarters? On dish detail until he retired from life?

Well, sort of. Did get the back of his head cuffed, while edging past his muscular brother. But, hey… it could've been worse. As kid sib to four real life heroes, Alan Tracy was in a position to know, and to hurry.


	11. Chapter 11

Hey, guys. :0) Thank you for reading. Éditéd more, sorry!

 **11**

 _Shooting into the Chaos Cruiser, through tunnel and airlock-_

First thing he noticed was blood, floating in quivery red droplets like a 3D curtain of rubies. There was some on the bulkheads, too, making odd little splotches and trails, in the direction of that massive black alien ship. Gordon felt its pull, himself, as he soared through a short passageway and into the cockpit. Yeah. No pirates, no reporters. _Worse._

Saw the Hood, frozen in mid-snarl, a blood-spurting Havok, still strapped in and hunched-over, and Fuse, caught in the act of throwing a punch. All three were crammed up front near the windows; like a logjam of vicious statues. They were completely still, but for occasional bobbing and bouncing; time-locked, every one of them.

A small tooth floated by him. Reflexively, Gordon caught it, being medic enough to tuck the wee, broken thing into one of his sterile sash-pockets. Pretty clearly, the Hood had been after that ship, only then, a fight had erupted. The aquanaut took this all in at a glance. He was only half aware of his surroundings, though, because most of his attention was focused on something… some _one_ … else.

There was a skinny young boy (light-brown hair, dark eyes) curled up floating in mid-cabin. He was wearing a loose, bloodied grey coverall, and a blinking electronic "asset control" collar. Gordon's blood pressure spiked, and his heart began racing.

The kid didn't seem able to see him. Collar prevented much thought, probably, although it… and his clothing… was beginning to look pretty old. The boy's face was swollen and bloody; his lip busted, like he'd been in a fight. Tooth must've been his.

Something like memory rose to Gordon's conscious mind like a bubble in soda. _Charlie,_ he thought, not sure how he knew the kid's name. Just that he'd found him, again; like a dangerous, missing small brother or son.

"Hey, Big Guy," he said quietly. "It's me, Gordon Tracy. I'm gonna come over, and get that thing off you, okay?"

No answer, at first. Then, very slightly, the boy's dark brown eyes seemed to shift his way, and he made a small sound between whisper and sob. Poor little fella had to be terrified.

It was tough to control his rate of approach, while soaring in micro-gravity, but Gordon used the cockpit's bulkheads and seats to slow his brief glide. Couldn't afford to surprise or alarm a Dos Santos (Don't ask how he knew that name; he couldn't have told you, himself.)

Got there. Stopped himself with a knee and one hand to the back of a tech seat. Then, before reaching out for that d*mn collar, the sandy-haired swimmer said,

"Okay, Buddy… I'm here. Taking this junk off you, now. Get ready. You might have a headache, or something."

The kid's chocolate-brown eyes were locked on his own, desperately wide and afraid. Looked like he tried to nod, some. Gordon smiled, and kept on narrating. No sudden moves, no surprises.

"Right. Reaching up for the switch, now… ID code…? What d'you mean, ID code? I'm a Goddam Tracy. _Override."_

The collar's dim little computer finally recognized him as a GDF-sponsored public safety officer, and decided to comply. With a sharp click and a chime, it shut itself down and snapped open.

Then Charlie was crying, coming loose from his defensive crouch to wrap both skinny arms around Gordon, who tossed the collar like a venomous frisbee, and hugged him right back.

"It's okay, Big Guy, you're safe now. I'm here. I got you." Fished a sterile wipe out of one of his pockets, and started dabbing that cut.

The boy hiccupped convulsively, then whispered, face pressed tight to the swimmer's chest,

"Gordon, Charlie… teamwork."

"Yeah," the swimmer responded. "Charlie and Gordon, teamwork, all day."

The boy looked up at him, eyes full of doubt and confusion.

"Don't want to 'let them go', Gordon," he said, risking a glance at the statue pile-up, then looking away. "Don't like them." Voice shaking, Charlie told him, "They're _doctors."_

Gordon shot his own quick look at the frozen Hood and his murderous henchmen. Figured there'd be time enough to straighten the kid about medical professionals, later. For now, they just needed out.

"Don't blame you, Kiddo," he said. "I don't like them much, either. They're fine like that, till we get back to Earth. We'll just take them to Thunderbird 3, and then…"

Gordon stopped talking, thoughts cut short by the sudden appearance of his "partner". A hulking, armoured shape had emerged from the passageway, freckled with droplets of free-floating blood. The Mechanic. He wouldn't get close. Knew better. Charlie went rigid, as the cyborg's target-lock found him.

Moving fast, Gordon whipped the kid behind himself, sensing, somehow, that Kane was hunting. A weird red gleam blossomed to cover his blue pressure suit. Some kind of upgrade from Brains?

"Leave him alone," he snapped, wishing for weapons. Well… Chaos Cruiser, right? Had to be a gun locker, somewhere. In the meantime, he still had his wrist comm alert, and plenty of brothers.

"Out of my way, Tracy, or I'll shoot him right through you," the Mechanic rumbled.

"No. You might get us both, but I'm not gonna leave him. He won't hurt…"

Kane barked a harsh laugh, edging cautiously into the cockpit. Waves of menace rolled off him like steam. Perched on his muscular shoulder, the mantis-drone flexed jagged saw blades, and glared. Meanwhile, his rifle locked-on and ready, the Mechanic snarled,

 _"No one_ controls a Dos Santos."

"I'm not controlling him!" Gordon shot back. "He's controlling _himself._ We're friends."

"Not Dos Santos," mumbled Charlie, half-peeking past Gordon's broad back. "I'm a God dan _Tracy._ Going home!" His thin arms were tight around the aquanaut, who decided then and there to watch his own mouth. Cussing wasn't good for kids.

Maybe Kane-before would have shot them down without thinking. Kane-now tried to dredge up an explanation.

"They broke the accord, Tracy. At the last council. Turned everyone there to dust. No questions, no quarter. Now, get the h*ll out of my way."

"That's not how we do things," said Scott, swooping into the crowded cockpit with a taser gun and plastic manacles. Did a double-take at that tangle of villains, then arrowed right back to the narrow-eyed, bristling Mechanic. "We're working together, and we'll keep it that way… provided you don't break the law, or hurt any innocent bystanders. I don't _care_ who that boy is. He's got our protection, Kane, just like _you_ do. Put your gun away, then help me get the Hood and his people to 3."

The Mechanic's amber gaze flicked from Gordon to Scott, and then back again.

"You're soft," he snarled, "and you're stupid. It's a time-bender, an effing _Dos Santos."_ Seemed disgusted and totally confused, like they'd adopted a gen-mod coyote with weaponized rabies.

"Won't hurt you," whispered Charlie, surprising them all. "Please. I promise… won't hurt you." His arms were locked tight around Gordon, who reached over to pat the kid's heaving back.

A few things jammed themselves through Kane's target-locked mind, then. First, that this was no place for a stand-off. Second, that the Mother of Cyborgs would have to be consulted, before he could guarantee not to kill what might be the very last time-bender. Third… h*ll. Soft or not, the Tracys seemed to manage. Not as stupid or weak as they looked, somehow. Even dumbass, over there, with the little Dos Santos.

After a moment, Kane grudgingly cut off his targeting laser, and re-slung that rifle. On his massive left shoulder, the battle drone sheathed about seventeen blades, and crouched down, again.

"You have names?" The Mechanic asked Gordon and Scott.

No one had noticed the cockpit's _other_ occupant, just coming awake in an under-deck prison.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The space pod, between Thunderbird 3 and that derelict ship-_

Virgil Tracy had performed his share of alpine rescues, with high winds, freezing cold, the threat of avalanche and terrified climbers to handle. Oddly enough, this felt sort of the same.

Mars hung like a moldy orange, off to the left, partly screened by a curtain of flickering chaff. The massive black edge of that alien ship was slicing toward him, it's motion like rockfall and ax-blow, together. Only, there wasn't any wind, no rumble or screaming. No noise at all, except for the fans in his cramped little cockpit. These pods were built more for Gordon or Alan, not his own legendary proportions.

Missed Thunderbird 2, right about then. Missed Emma, as well, but the faster done, the faster home, right? As Scott would say: _Mind on the mission, Virge._ Nodding to the phantom brother in his head, Virgil goosed the pod's engine a little, sending it darting in front of that struggling Interceptor. This close to the massive derelict and Mars, he was fighting gravity, but counted on Alan to back him up, if he couldn't break free by himself. Out loud, the pilot remarked,

"I'm just gonna scoot out in front, like _this…_ fire a magno-line, like so… _annnd,_ we're in business."

He was talking to himself, because without comm, the first pilot couldn't hear him, and the other seemed to be frozen. Not explosive decompression, he figured, or the squadron commander… Cpt Mei Li, according to the golden eagle insignia by her canopy… wouldn't be out here trying to save the guy. No, something else was going on, but Virgil had no time to speculate.

Working fast, he tested the magno-line, which had attached itself behind the space fighter's bulbous nose missile. (Because firing at live ordnance was _never_ a smart move.) Had a good lock, so Virgil throttled up and started to haul.

"Tote that baaaarge, lift that bale… you gets a little drunk, and you lands in jaaaiiiillll," he sang, nailing those low notes, precisely.

The game little space pod performed like a champ, maybe not _just_ because Kane had made some adjustments. Certainly felt more powerful than it should have, and moved faster, too. He'd have to buy the cyborg a beer, or… y'know… a case of lantern batteries.

Mostly, Virgil focused on flying, but couldn't help stealing occasional glances at the derelict. Looked like a pocked, streaked and battered black cliff, in grand, unsettling motion. No writing or symbols that he could make out. Just a roughly oblong, terribly ancient dark ship, flipping slowly end over end, rather than gliding. Was going to miss Mars, thank God, but still seemed headed for Earth. Dead… and carrying death.

Took Virgil about ten minutes to haul the two Interceptors clear. They should have taken off to join the rest behind Mars, but weren't budging.

Okay… the other two were still in danger of being drawn in and crushed like bugs. As squadron commander, Captain Li wouldn't just leave them. He got that.

Virgil gave her a brisk wave, then retrieved the tow cable. Next, he worked his thrusters and steering rockets to turn around and start back. The alien ship seemed very much closer now, and Virgil spotted… not writing, but some kind of symbol… beside what looked like a launch bay.

' _Huh,'_ he thought. _'Got a way in, if we ever decide we need one.'_ Took a few pictures, just in case. Got a faint wrist comm alert, at one point, but Scott's all-clear sounded pretty soon, afterward. Not that Virgil could just up and leave, to go help his family. His duty was right here, right now, to those two stranded pilots.

The chaff was swirling and swaying like glittery seaweed-bits in a current, drawn to the mass of that ship. _Definite_ problems with gravity, now, and the second Interceptor pair was losing its race to escape.

Virgil increased speed and power, using a control he was ready to swear hadn't been there when he built the thing. Engine noise and vibration ramped up, as he shot forward, past a hurtling, badly-scarred hull.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 3, down in the engine room-_

Alan darted up to the Higgs Boson Mass-Transfer generator, halting himself with a hand to its Max-white steel chassis. Had he been standing, the device would have been about waist-high, and as wide as a compact ground car. An _ugly_ ground car.

Well, Brains built _effective,_ not pretty. There were a few lights and panels on top, plus the proverbial big red button (their engineer loved those).

"Right…" Alan sighed. "Guess I'd better get started. Why does everyone else get all the _cool_ jobs?!"

Decidedly grumpy (and worried that Scott might be listening) the young astronaut called up a midair virtual keypad and screen. Then he typed in the code for Brains' list of instructions.

"Wait… what?! _Forty-seven steps?!_ You're frickin' _kidding_ me! That'll take weeks! My whole dang life!"

Or not, if he started now. Got out his multi-tool, and viciously kicked the deck-bolted generator; a smooth move that sent him tumbling back out of the engine room. Had to brace for impact, carrom off a bulkhead, then get himself reoriented, and shoot back inside; feeling salty as heck.

 _"Fix the generator, Alan,"_ he mocked, getting to work on step one (remove cover). "Tired of fixing crap! Next time, _Gordon_ plays monkey-boy-fetch-it, and _I_ get to go hunting for pirates!"

'Cause, yeah… it was turning out to be a very long day, even before Gordon's wrist comm alert.


	12. Chapter 12

Hey, there! =) Thanks for reading and reviewing, you guys. Altered timelines mean more than one change, unfolding in ways that surprise me. Tikatu, Whirl Girl, Bow Echo and Creative Girl, your insights and comments inspire.

 **12**

 _London, former U.K.-_

Jeff Tracy left the chancellor's inner sanctum, feeling angry and depressed. Very much, he did not wish to speak with Colonel Casey, or encounter a mob of suspicious reporters. That's why, when Shaw's lovely young intern beckoned him over to the waiting area, he muttered of family business, presented ID at the reception desk, signed out and joined her.

By way of excuse, the slender blonde offered him a cup of coffee, while chirping something about always having wanted a selfie with Earth's greatest hero. Jeff smiled at her and accepted a double cappuccino (which he could actually use, after jet lag, tension and bourbon). Agreed to the selfie, too.

"Zara, isn't it?" he enquired, gamely standing beside her and facing the hoisted phone.

"Yes, Colonel," she said, seeming pleased that he'd remembered. They smiled in unison for three pictures. In between the first two, she whispered, "Be careful, Sir… we're with you… but something's amiss… know of a private way out."

On the third flash, to cover any confusion he might have shown, the girl tiptoed up and kissed his cheek; like a bold summer-hol intern, out for a good time and lots of hits to her webpage.

Jeff kept a genial smile in place, aware that he was probably being watched. Very definitely, something was going on, and Chancellor Shaw was almost certainly behind it all. 'We' was most likely _them;_ the regular people that, day after day, International Rescue risked their own lives to protect and defend.

Finishing his cappuccino, the tall, handsome colonel set the cup down on a marble-topped sideboard. Next, leaning down a bit, he kissed Zara's forehead, saying, "Thank you", aloud, then whispering, "Which way out?"

"Second door, left," she hissed, looking busy with tidying up. "Unmarked. Servant's entry, leads to the kitchens and employee car park. Luck, Colonel."

Wasn't at all hard to break free after that, crossing the outer office and shaking a few hands as he left. Six years, he'd been out of the picture; trapped by the scheming Hood. A great deal had changed while he'd been collared and mindless; obeying the psychotic whims of his captor. The boys had rescued him, finally, and nearly been killed in the process.

Jeff was grateful… but still off-balance, having mentally jumped from that terrible crash, to sudden release. From violent explosion and dark, rushing water, to Scott and John's worried faces. For six years, he'd been one of the Hood's most effective masked henchmen, hidden right there in plain sight.

It was a secret that burned and shamed him; one that only Scott knew, and John. There were crimes on his hands. Maybe deaths. Colonel Tracy couldn't remember the details of that bleak, six-year nightmare. Didn't want to. But still, they called him a hero, and he had to let them. Sometimes he wanted to shoot himself.

Now, though, he strode down that wide, beautifully carpeted hallway, with its tall windows, gilt mirrors and ancient art works. Found the second left doorway… no handle, covered in green baize cloth… and ducked on through. The other side was much less luxurious, he noted, with no windows at all, and only a simple strip of tan carpeting to mute any footfalls.

Jeff felt himself start to relax as he studied the small plastic wall map next to his "secret entrance". Could find his way out easily enough, he saw; avoiding the inevitable mob of reporters and roving security. No doubt there were cameras here, too, but Jeff had his tricks, and a wrist comm.

He'd memorized his route and was turning to go, when a sudden, sharp… not headache, exactly… message took hold. Like someone had reached into his mind and planted a summons. Scotland. Two days' time, 6AM, in the slagheap that used to be Edinburgh. He was… he was to meet there, with folk that had long been nothing but rumor and myth. Night terrors, all of them.

Jeff closed his tired brown eyes, bracing both hands on the wall, until at last the spell passed away. Some trick of the Hood's, was his first thought. But, then… why was he still able to stand there, a free man? The summons had been stamped on his mind, but Jeff sensed that he could show up or ignore it, however he chose. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before, nor had _his_ dad, Grant Tracy, ever talked of a "council". Only the Mechanic, back on Tracy Island... but Jeff hadn't quite known whether or not to believe him.

Pushing away from the white-painted wall, Jeff took a few steps down passage. First, a deadly alien relic, then Casey's blind insistence on contact, Shaw's machinations, and now _this._ Sometimes, he mused, the crap just wouldn't stop flowing.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 5, in orbit-_

John lingered inside the big maintenance airlock, even though there was work to be done; engines to test. He was reluctant to venture into the station, where Captain Taylor and Kayo were heating up dinner and wanting to talk. John would have settled for a quick electrolyte drink and a ten-minute nap at the end of his tether. Just… social stuff, y'know? Didn't much like it, whether formal, with tuxes, or up here, at home.

Needing time to himself, he extended the usual decontamination cycle; making some crap up about organic micro-meteoroids. What-the-h*ll-ever. _They_ didn't know any better (except maybe Lee, who kept it to himself).

Just wanted not to be bothered with chatter and relationship upkeep. Just wanted to drift and not think, for a while. So, naturally, he got another call. From Earth, this time. Would've played deaf, but Eos had marked it on his heads-up display with the flashing red skull that meant "do not ignore". The number was unlisted, but no trouble at all to trace. Helen Klein, Pete's former wife.

"Hey, Aunt Helen," he said, accepting the call. A virtual screen formed inside his helmet, angled to seem about a foot away from John's face. On it, his aunt's image was projected; greying dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes suspicious.

"Jay-Em, what's going on?" she demanded. "Don't give me any crap about horses, either. Why do you suddenly need us out to the ranch, Jay?"

Well, he'd tried.

"Um, it's Pete, Ma'am," John told her. "He wants…"

Helen's eyes blazed, almost literally. She was yet another collateral cousin, somehow related to Dad.

"That sonuvabitch isn't trying to get back together, is he? Because I don't do well in a harem, and you can tell him I said so," she snapped. "He can turn his ass right back around, if he's planning some kind of romantic getaway."

"No, Ma'am," John responded, shaking his red-golden head. "Nothing like that. It's, um… he's worried. There's… an _object_ passing Mars right now, and headed for Earth. It could…"

"He's in trouble?" she asked, all at once very quiet and still.

"Uh… hopefully not," John temporized, using his soothing IR voice. "I mean, Thunderbird 3's in the area, ready to assist, and head off any conflict with intruding vessels. Only, he wants you and Steph in a safe location, Aunt Helen. Just in case."

By this time, his cousin Stephanie had come to the screen, hanging over her mom's slim shoulder. About Alan's age, she had wild auburn hair, blue eyes and the disposition of a sleep-deprived wolverine.

"I don't like horses," she announced, upending many years of preteen mane-brushing and dressage practice. "Hey, John. How's dad?"

Tough question to answer without revealing too much, so the astronaut stuck with a friendly wave. Aunt Helen had been watching him narrowly. Now, she said,

"It's bad, isn't it? Don't lie to me, Jay."

Hanging there in the quietly humming airlock, John folded his arms on his chest and shrugged.

"We've got it under control, Ma'am… but I think Admiral McCord wants to make sure that you guys are safe, in case something goes wrong and we strike out. From the Ranch, it's an easy pick up to Lee's place on the Moon, or out to Mars Base."

Stephanie started to say something, but her mother silenced the girl with a scowl and a head shake.

"We'll go," Helen decided, "If it means he's got one less thing on his mind. Let him know that. It's just…" she threw her hands up in the air, and then dropped them again. "Jay, the man's impossible to live with!"

 _"Mom!"_ her daughter erupted, half swinging the woman's chair around. "How can you say that?! Dad's…"

"Quiet, Stephanie! Go pack for the ranch. I'm talking." Then, turning back to John, again, "I did my job, Jay. I was the perfect wife. A real Space Corps show piece, all through the toughest parts of his career. I ignored the other women for years. When I couldn't do it any more, I kicked the bastard out… but I don't want him hurt. You've got to understand, Jay… I…"

John nodded. Someone was hammering at the airlock's inner hatch… probably wondering what was taking so long… but he ignored it.

"It's going to be okay, Aunt Helen. My brothers are out there, right now, making sure that the object remains undisturbed, and that Mars Base is safe. Pete's fine. I promise, just like I promised him I'd take care of you and Stephanie."

Helen nodded, blinking back tears of pain, confusion, and maybe still some kind of love.

"D*mn him," she whispered. _"D*mn_ his hide for never quite going away! Keep him safe, Jay, and tell him… tell him I said, 'thank you'."

"Yes, Ma'am, I will," John assured her. His aunt gave him a watery smile, then rang off with, "Love to your grandma and them. I'll talk to you later."

The screen went dark, then disappeared from his helmet, entirely. What did not disappear was a gathering sense of unease. Through the comm, John could hear his sister threatening to space him, if he didn't open that hatch, but…

"Eos."

"Yes, John?" his AI companion chirped up, having been listening in. "I have found 147,852,361 possible engagement rings for you. Would you care to view the selection now, or after your projected altercation with Kayo?"

"Neither. Get Captain O'Bannon over here, with the fastest ship she's got. Then, I'm going to need you to help me hijack the new Mass-Transfer Field generator."

Her very slight pause told John that he'd startled Eos, whose heads-up icon flickered red for a bit, before she said,

"The generator has just been installed in the station's core, John… and Captain O'Bannon cannot simply flit off with Global Defense Force property."

"She won't have to," he told her. " _I_ will. She can always claim that I tied her up and stole it… but I've got to reach Mars, and that Mark IV of hers is the only way to do it in a hurry."

"Relativistic speeds in a Mark IV Starliner are only theoretical, John," Eos protested, sending a fast stream of data to his heads-up display. "As you can clearly see, even with transferred mass, the ship will most likely disintegrate in transit."

"Sweetie," he said, "You worry too much. Call it a hunch or quantum entanglement, but I've got a feeling that Pete and my brothers are going to need help, soon, and I don't have time for red tape. Besides… it means I get to skip small talk at dinner."

"John…"

"No, don't say it, let me guess," the red-haired astronaut interrupted, smiling a little. "Four-hundred-thousand of me tried that stunt, and got killed. I _know,_ Eos… but I'm number four-hundred-thousand-and- _one,_ and I've got you."

Eos chirped something suspiciously close to an electronic snort.

"You also have a sister who is nearly through that hatch, and will prove far harder to charm, John Tracy," she told him, her heads-up icon wavering now between pink and pale lavender.

"No problem," said John, reaching for the hatch-release button. "I'll just tell her the truth. That it's a family emergency, and I've got to get moving. Funny how that works, sometimes."

It would have to, because a promise was a promise, and he'd sworn that nothing was going to go wrong.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _The Chaos Cruiser, docked still with Thunderbird 3-_

Scott Tracy excelled at getting, and keeping, things moving. At welding his chaotically independent brothers into a functional team. His skills had been hard-pressed here, though, with an angry cyborg, a small, scary kid and Gordon to deal with; not to mention the Hood and his Chaos Crew, all apparently frozen.

 _"He_ did this?" Scott asked, glancing back over at Charlie.

"Yeah," Replied Gordon, sounding sort of belligerent. "Wouldn't _you?"_

"Not going to answer that," Scott grunted, waving a hand in front of the Hood's stiff, snarling face. Nothing. No blinking, no flinches, no breath. "Will they come out of it? Are they alive?"

All big brown eyes in a skinny and battered face, the kid nodded. He was still clinging to the sandy-haired aquanaut, like they already knew each other. Gordon, Scott noticed, was keeping himself between young Charlie and the silent Mechanic.

"They'll stay that way till released," the swimmer clarified. "He _had_ to do it, Scott. They were going to kill him, or make him fast-age those Interceptors."

Scott heaved a short, gusty sigh, and then rubbed at the knots in the back of his neck.

"Well… couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," Scott admitted, watching the Hood slip across perma-glass, pulled by that alien derelict's gravity.

"Kill them all now, less problems later," Kane rumbled, moving forward slightly. Ramrod and Dumbass had told him their names, but not how they'd earned them, so he'd fallen right back on labels. Easier, anyhow.

"Not when you figure in jail time or brain-scraping, Kane," Scott replied tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I hate the Hood as much as the next guy, but…"

"You've never had him in your head, Ramrod, making you fetch and attack like a dog," growled the Mechanic.

Scott blinked. Floating like that, he was about a foot higher than Kane, whose magnetic skills let him stand on the deck. Slowly, the handsome pilot said,

"I understand that better than you think, Kane, and I empathize… but the law says we bring them all in, and let WorldGov sort it out."

The Mechanic shook his tattooed, partly-shaved head.

"Or, I could just kill you all, redirect _that_ thing so it hits Mars instead of Earth, stranding the nanites, then steal Horatio's reward, and go home. Now, _that's_ a good plan." Waited to see what they'd do, figuring that two Tracys and a juvenile Dos Santos weren't the worst odds he'd ever been up against.

Then, they heard a noise from one of the under-deck smuggling lockers. Something moving. Kane would have just scanned, but they were trying to limit EM usage, and anyhow, he was two paces from that rustling deck panel. In the mood to hurt something, too.

Figuring that it wasn't another time-bender, the Mechanic lunged over, sank his metal fingers into the steel deck plate, and ripped it loose. Bolts popped, metal shrieked and tore, as Kane flung the panel over one shoulder. Inside the compartment…

"Your family friend likes his weapons," the cyborg remarked, hauling a bound and collared prisoner out of that cramped, tiny cell. "A Dos Santos _and_ a Beech. I'm impressed. Suppose you'll want to keep this one, too?"

All he had to do was touch that collar, and it came alive like a jointed drone serpent, slithering off the pale-haired captive and onto Kane's muscular arm. Seemed like a shame to waste a potential resource.

He backed away as the Tracys flocked to assist the recovering chaos-adept. Not getting it. Not wanting to, either. _Frustrated_. Fighting his own instincts, the Mechanic looked back at the "still life with dead-meat" by the windows, then past them, at…

"Ramrod," he growled, turning again, "I think your Virgil is about to be killed."


	13. Chapter 13

'Allo! Encore une fois, je suis ici, avec plus! ;) Seriously, though, "hi, there!" Thank you very much, Thunderbird Shadow, Tikatu, Creative Girl, Whirl Girl, Susan and Bow Echo. I enjoy your comments very much, and hope to improve as a writer.

 **13**

 _London, former U.K., in the bowels of the WorldGov chancellery building-_

From back here, in the servant's access corridors, it was quicker to travel, and easier to avoid unwanted encounters. Up to a point, anyway. Jeff surprised a few hurrying waiters and prowling security guards, but he was a Tracy; by definition, in just the right place, doing exactly what he was supposed to be.

Those few servants and employees who reacted at all, merely nodded politely, or offered their shy good wishes. The guards and their dogs paused to chat, or to have a nice ear-scratch. Jeff had always liked dogs, and they, him. He was, the Colonel realized, almost universally trusted, and always addressed with fondness.

As for any cameras and scanning equipment, WorldGov's tech was no match for IR's, and his wrist comm projected a quite handy jamming field. Had Jeff been up to no good, he reflected, they could never have stopped him.

Except that all that he wanted was _out_ , and some space to think. That summons still drew at him. Should he go? What did those shadowy others want? And, why _now?_

He'd got nearly down to ground level, when Colonel Tracy encountered his first real obstacle, in the person of Chancellor Shaw, himself. Jeff simply rounded a corner, expecting to deal with a bored, desk-bound security guard. Instead, the Chancellor confronted him, standing poised and alert in front of the exit doors. He was oddly graceful for so large a man, and… like the Mechanic… produced a palpable aura. Not of fear, though; of power. Control.

Seeing the Colonel, he smiled in a way that did not reach his pale, streetfighter's eyes.

"Ah, Jeffery! Thought that I might find you here, after dear Zara's alarming whispers. A sweet child, but quite muddled. Best, I think, if she returns to her classes."

Jeff found his voice, felt his muscles beginning to bunch.

"What have you done with her, Shaw?"

The chancellor's heavy dark eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Done?" he repeated. "Why, sent the dear girl on home, of course. I have no need of fanciful, troublesome children among my interns. _However,_ I am most pleased at this opportunity to speak with you, in private… man to man."

Jeff's brown eyes flicked across to a pair of wall-mounted security cameras, but Shaw merely smiled.

"Come now, Jeffery. We are both adults. Lies do not become us. That little contraption at your wrist jams all EM signals, on command. That is why I decided to wait for you here, alone. What I have to discuss is best kept just between us."

"What do you want?" Jeff asked him, feeling himself grow nearly electric with pre-battle tension; seeing dozens of ways to attack or escape. Chancellor Shaw seemed not to notice his agitation, saying,

"Merely an understanding, Jeffery. An accord, if you will. I have done a bit of research since taking office. Curious about the Tracys, and others of your… 'special status'. Quite intriguing, those files. Not electronic, and… in so far as I can determine… not reproduced, anywhere else."

Warily, Jeff said,

"We've always acted to uphold the law and defend public safety, Chancellor."

Sebastian Shaw nodded slightly, and shifted his stance. Subtle, but just enough of a change to block attempted flight, or assault. Quite clearly, he knew how to fight, and maybe he even quite liked it.

"I am aware of your record, Colonel. You and your family are heroes… because you have chosen to be. Not much that we could do about it, had you chosen otherwise, though. Your John is a particular concern, Jeffery. Bit of a loose cannon, isn't he? And Scott. Rather violent temper on that one. But… looking, as they say, at the 'big picture'… International Rescue works for the public weal. Yet, we both know how quickly and easily that mindset can be altered. Say… through captivity."

Jeff went suddenly cold, sensing that he faced a dangerous serpent of a man in Chancellor Shaw. Said,

"Still not getting your point, Sir. What are you after?"

Shaw sighed and shook his ponytailed head, like a schoolmaster disappointed in his brightest young pupil.

"Let us discuss the alien impactor, Colonel Tracy," he suggested. "Now, there are two ways in which this situation might develop. In scenario one, International Rescue succeeds in 'saving the day', lauded by all, and presided over by me. That is the preferred scenario. In the other, IR does _not_ stop the alien artefact, and matters unfold as predicted by your time travelers. There is great loss of life, but a select group of carefully chosen survivors escapes this tragic culling, to establish civilisation elsewhere. Once again, presided over by me."

Shaw's smile broadened slightly.

"A strong, intelligent man can rise to the top in _either_ event, Colonel… together with his most valued allies. I trust that I make myself clear?"

Jeff nodded stiffly.

"I understand what you want from us, Chancellor," he responded, in a very low voice.

"Good, good…" Said the other man, seemingly filled with nothing but gentle concern. "Because, it would be a terrible shame if our governing council felt the need to exert more control over International Rescue, perhaps pulling your two eldest boys back into service."

The wrist comm could jam electronic transmissions, while still recording. As though aware of this, the chancellor held out a big hand, palm upward, remarking,

"I shall have need of your communication device, Colonel Tracy. It will give the GDF tech crews something to puzzle over; perhaps even learn from."

Saying nothing at all in reply, Jeff unstrapped the wrist comm and handed it over. Not before he'd pressed 'send', though, on a highly encrypted line, to IR's most valuable secret operative.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 5, at the maintenance airlock-_

John glided in through that open hatch, looking shifty. She'd always been able to read him better than anyone else, and right now, everything about her tall, red-haired brother screamed "trouble".

"What are you up to, John?" she demanded, without more preamble than seizing his arm. Since they were up there in micro-G, this sent them into a spin. His answer surprised her.

"Simple. I'm planning to trick Captain O'Bannon into bringing me a ship fast enough to reach Mars in a hurry. Then, I'm going to swipe the new Mass Transfer field generator, and go help Scott with that derelict." (Might have understated the challenge, a little.)

Kayo's big green eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed again.

"It's gone pear-shaped, up there?" she guessed, just as her wrist comm received a transmission.

"A whole orchard's worth," said John, holding her arms while the station wheeled grandly around them. Tanusha scowled.

"You might just ask her for the ship," she suggested. "Captain O'Bannon, I mean."

"No," her brother replied, shaking his red-golden head. "If I ask her for the Mark IV and she says "yes", she'll A: want to come with me, and B: get in trouble with the GDF. No, I have to steal it. Need you to keep her distracted, looking at rings, or something. Eos 's dredged up over a million, and I can't waste time examining them all. You're females. You know what they like. Pick one."

Kayo blinked.

"Wait, John… _you_ want a ring? As in, an _engagement_ ring?"

"Yeah. Had no idea there were so d*mn many. Just… I dunno. Find a pretty one. Whatever you think looks good, Little Bit."

Her wrist comm was flashing an urgent demand for attention, at a frequency only _she_ could detect. Her brothers could see pretty far into the infrared end of the spectrum, but were rubbish with ultraviolet. The tiny screen flared bright as a torch for her, and was perfectly blank, to John… who was apparently planning his engagement. Odd, but then, he never did _anything_ normally.

Kayo squeezed his hard-muscled forearms, and got an affectionate press in return.

"I'll do my best to think like a love-struck female," she promised, with more than usual truth. "As long as you swear to be careful, and listen to Eos. You haven't got extra lives like a cat, John, and I only have five brothers. No spares."

The astronaut hauled her in for a quick hug, then launched his sister away through the air with a rough, playful shove.

"I'm always careful," he told her. "It's reality that keeps screwing up." Then, "Thanks, Tin-Tin," he called out, using his suit's maneuvering jets to fly off. "O'Bannon will be here in fifteen minutes. Keep her busy."

Tumbling through the cargo hold like a fallen leaf, Kayo wrestled with a very mixed bag of emotions. Decided, once she'd seized a bulkhead brace and halted her flight, to open that message. Heard Dad… and Chancellor Shaw. And then, all at once, John's little field trip was the furthest thing from her mind.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The space pod, near Mars-_

They weren't going to make it. That alien ship was moving too fast; its gravity too powerful to escape from. Like a landslide, it hurtled down at the little string of fleeing vessels; a boot heel coming down on an ant.

Had he released his tow line, Virgil could have got free… alone. Saw the squadron commander angling in. She was trying to lend a hand, probably, but only managed to complicate the situation.

"C'mon, Baby," he urged the pod, throttling forward as far as its altered controls would allow. _"Move._ I got four people here who just want to get home to supper, and hug their families."

From this vantage, he could see far more of the juggernaut's black, cratered hull than he wanted to. Speckled with meteors and strange, shattered spacecraft, it was; ravaged, ancient, unstoppable.

Except for that targeted virus, he'd never been closer to death. He was thinking of Emma, wanting to hold her once more, as the dark, massive cliff hurtled down at his pod and those fragile Interceptors.

Then, Thunderbird 3 projected a sudden force shield, inserting it like a scalpel between the space pod and Interceptors, and that crushing black nightmare. The smaller ships were scattered like bugs caught in a sudden wind-gust; spinning and tumbling away in different directions.

On Thunderbird 3, Alan had raced back into the cockpit after first _Gordon's_ alarm, then Scott's. Now, he was frantically trying to trim up his forcefield, and wishing for John.

He could push Virgil and those fighters out of the way, easy… but he'd created a butt-load of EM noise in the process, and…

"No, no, _NO!_ C'mon!" Alan begged, struggling to shift his projected force-blade so that it heaved his brother, but did _not_ touch the alien ship. John could calculate this crap on the fly, without even breaking a sweat. Alan was more of a seat-of-the-pants kind of guy, and his angle was all wrong. Worse, most of the scanning gear had been shut off, to keep things quiet.

Just barely, just for a second, his force shield brushed the tumbling derelict, causing a brief flare of greenish-pale light. Alan's gut clenched. In his mind's eye, he saw Earth and Mars wiped clean of life, because, when the crucial moment came, Alan Tracy hadn't been good enough.

Two more spacecraft shot into his field of view, then. One from Mars, the other torn loose of Thunderbird 3, trailing its boarding tube like a banner. The Chaos Cruiser, no longer cloaked.

The Martian ship was a fast-moving, silvery dart; a souped-up Mark IV Starliner. It arrowed right in, tractored the nearest Interceptor, then peeled off. Tried to, anyhow. More like a weary salmon, fighting torrential currents as it struggled upstream against gravity.

"Breaking silence, because I figure the cat's already out, and pissing all over the d*mn bag," snapped McCord, flashing onto their screens. "Do not respond to this call, and do not show fight. Grab whoever you can carry, then get back to the planet. McCord, _Out."_

Alan nodded, not pressing any switches.

"Yessir," he said, to a now-blank, empty screen. Meanwhile, the spot that he'd touched with his force shield was beginning to glow and send branches of circuitry flaring outward. That's where the Mechanic came in.

He and Scott were flying the Cruiser, cutting so close to that alien ship that they just about shaved it. The little guy, Charlie, was up there, too; a determined look on his face, gripping tight to Gordon's right hand.

"Okay, Kid," ordered Scott, unfolding a hasty plan. "You first. Time-freeze that impulse, before it spreads any further. _Go."_

Charlie looked up at his friend and protector for confirmation. Getting a nod, he said,

"Okay, go," and sent forth a wave of tightly directed power. The hull-lightning began to slow down, becoming a trickle of glowing pale syrup, then freezing icicle-still.

"Nice work, Buddy," Scott told him. "Ease up a little. We want it able to react, just… slowly." And then, turning to face the Mechanic, "You're on, Machine-man. Do your thing. Put that monster back to sleep."

Kane didn't answer directly. Just leaned forward in the tech seat, and stared hard at the epicenter of that time-frozen signal. Focused his power. Shaped it. He was Evan Kane, a Lord of Machines. Nothing with circuits or lone, spinning electrons could resist his will. He would command, and be obeyed.

Encountered… difference; a form of mechanical life unlike anything on Earth. The wakened circuits 'spoke' oddly, and they required convincing. Easier to do now, with less of them alerted, than to take on the whole vessel, though.

 _'Nothing',_ he projected. _'False alarm. Meteor strike'._

The cyborg did this, using the derelict's own idiom, and a signal strength that threatened to open his skull. Hurt like h*ll, but he'd mastered the dust. He could do this, too.

Meanwhile, the freed Beech had been instructed to stay back with their bungie-strapped prisoners. Now, though, drawn by a sudden explosion of chaos, the pale-haired young man drifted forward. He was not among his own folk, anymore. Wasn't sure how he'd got here, or what to do next. There'd been a command, a blow to the head, and now this.

The tangle of entropy looked like a nest of roiling snakes to his senses; something he could reach out, take hold of and twist. Except that shifting the stuff of chaos might only result in more trouble. Looking around didn't help much. He was in some kind of spaceship, with a couple of augmented Typicals, two oddly familiar Tracys, a cyborg, an outlawed Kyrano and a very young, rather shaken, time-bender. Looking outward made his flesh creep. Through the viewscreen, he saw something so implacably hostile that his mind couldn't stretch to encompass it. Still, Cody wasn't a coward. As the old saying went, "only a fool fights in a burning house". He'd do what he could.

Up front, Scott asked,

"How's it coming, Kane?"

The pilot was fighting that harrowing gravitational pull; trying to hold position, in somebody else's escape ship. Found himself staring at an eerie graveyard of smashed and corroded small fighters. Blackened and still, they protruded like teeth from the juggernaut's hull. Totally alien, incredibly old. And he realized… through at least two universes, for God knows how long, no one had ever beaten this thing. No planet had ever survived its assault. The thought was chilling, but he had problems closer to home.

"Piss off," growled the cyborg, like a man who was trying to concentrate.

Behind them, Gordon just waited, holding Charlie's hand and feeling very much out of his depth. The boy was shaking, struggling to maintain a grip on that slowly spreading alarm. The sandy-haired aquanaut patted his back, saying,

"You got this, Big Guy. Only, look underneath, too. Not just the surface. That alert might grow down, like a plant."

Charlie nodded, steadied by the swimmer's reassurance.

"Not scared," he whispered, drawing strength from Gordon. "Intermal Restew always stops bad stuff. We _always_ win. Right?"

Gordon hugged the boy, mussing up his longish brown hair.

"Haven't lost one yet, Kiddo. Not about to start, now."

Charlie had pitifully little experience with smiling or hugs. The concept "love" was as foreign to him as it had been to Tanusha, fourteen years back. Nevertheless, he was learning. He held that signal almost stationary, barely allowing it to spread, as the Mechanic altered its message, and Beech shifted entropy.

Finally, the lightning-like signal sparked out and faded. Kane slumped in his seat, reeking like wet metal, and forbidding himself to tremble.

"Done," he grunted, as the time-bender relaxed his own grip, and Tracy cut hard away from that alien derelict. They were safe, for the moment. Had to find Crash-jockey, was all. Just needed to summon that hurtling pod.


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

 _Thunderbird 5, in geosynchronous orbit over Tracy Island-_

Having docked in a hurry, skipping most of the safety protocols, Captain O'Bannon came sailing in through the guest entrance. Wasn't much distracted by rings, or anything else, because Kayo and Eos were suddenly busy. On the bright side, she knew her way around the station by now, and was quite accustomed to encountering John waist-deep in machinery, tinkering.

She found him in the dome's central core, un-installing something. Almost done, too, by the look of things. As he was surrounded by a small, carefully placed galaxy of bolts and tools, she came in at a shallow angle, and stopped well short. Even so, the air currents produced by her micro-G glide stirred up his cloud of machine parts, making them orbit him.

John looked surprised, pleased, and complex to see her. Always more than one thing going on in there, she'd learnt.

"Wait… don't tell me you _didn't_ send that message, and it was some kind of trick to get me away from Global-1?!" she snapped. Ridley O'Bannon had never forgotten the Hood.

But John shook his head. As always, his sheer physical beauty came as a wavering shock. One of the reasons she rarely brought him to _her_ station, was that no one ever got anything done, with Tracy floating there, looking like _that._

"No, Captain," he told her, pressing a virtual switch. Instantly, a swarm of Mini-Maxes swooped in like gulls to seize all those floating mechanical bits and bobs. "I just wanted your ship."

"The Mark IV?" she asked, watching the Maxes dart, wheel, snatch and fly off. "Why? I thought the plan was to refit your Bird, just in case you need sudden mobility."

John grunted, flipped a small spanner to one last, hovering Max, and then glided on over to join her.

"That was plan G, Captain. We're all the way up to K.2, now. It's complicated." By this time, he'd got there, pulling O'Bannon as close as two spacesuits and terrible haste would let him. "I need to reach Mars… within the next few hours… Can I requisition a ship… without getting you in trouble?"

Tough to think while being kissed like that, so she pushed him away just a little.

"Four of your brothers are out there, already, plus the Mechanic. What can you do that's different, Lieutenant?"

An opening as wide as a barn door, _that_ was, but Tracy took her seriously.

"I can code fast enough to figure out how an inorganic, hostile lifeform functions and thinks, Captain. Lee's present, and Kayo… probably. They can get another generator from Brains, and finish up, here. I need to be _there._ It's important."

O'Bannon thought fast, one hand pressed flat to his broad, blue-suited chest, the other tucked through his golden utility sash.

"A few hours?" she probed cautiously. "As in, you could have it back by tomorrow afternoon, 1300 ST? Because then I can code its use under _miscellaneous, personal…_ You'll have to retcon the log, though."

"And it won't impact your record, or harm your career?" He asked, both hands gentle-tight on her spacesuited waist. The station's central dome turned gently around them, but all they saw was each other.

"I'll be fine," she maybe sort-of half lied. "You're the one with the complete disregard for personal security. Need me to come along, Tracy?"

John moved a hand. Touched her face. His gloved fingers felt warm, there; not like a spacesuit, at all.

"No," he said. "I need you here, ready to help with evacuation, if that proves necessary." He needed to know she was safe.

Ridley might have argued, but Captain Taylor soared into the dome, through the hab entry.

"Change o' plan?" he guessed, tossing them a couple of food packs, and pre-warmed coffee bags. "Eat. Everthin' makes more sense wunst you've got outside o' sumthin', even if it's just space food."

He was right about that, and the peanut butter and jelly sandwich meal was one of her favourites. Tough to screw up.

"What's this fool tryin' t' sell ya, Robbie?" the handsome old astronaut joked, slapping John's back. (Fortunately, Eos steadied them all with an artful ballet of air currents.)

"I need to borrow the car," Tracy explained, smiling. Then, growing serious again, "They're in trouble, out there."

Lee's bushy brown eyebrows lowered over those pale, blue-grey eyes.

"Then I guess ya better get movin', Jase. Me 'n Tina c'n hold th' fort, here. Take it y'll be needin' th' generator?"

"Yessir," John nodded. "But I'll bring it back in one piece." He'd finished his cheese sandwich in two rapid bites. Drained the coffee bag dry and twisted, as well. Hadn't realized that his stomach craved something to do. Just like… every once in a while… he actually needed to sleep. Needed other things, too, maybe.

The red-haired astronaut reached over and seized the back of O'Bannon's head, half-pulling her black-and-white snoopy cap off. Auburn hair sprang loose as he drew her in and kissed her forehead, through a seaweed jungle of drifting long strands.

"I'll bring the ship right back, too. With me in it," he promised, letting her go.

Captain O'Bannon nodded, not really expecting anything further. John Tracy wasn't verbally demonstrative. Never had been. Hit like a cannonball, when he said,

"I love you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The space pod, tumbling away from Mars, and that derelict alien ship-_

He was safe, for the moment, but out of control and disoriented, with nothing but dark, star-pocked space filling the windows. No sign of the Interceptors, or Thunderbird 3. Still, Virgil reasoned, they had to be somewhere nearby. Mars, too. Just a matter of getting that spin back under control.

Wanted to send a signal, but he'd gotten Pete's message. No contact, no cries for help. Just wait for pickup, hoping somebody knew where he was.

The handsome pilot began working his pod controls, adjusting throttle and steering rockets until the little spacecraft righted itself and stopped whirling. Without scanners, space was a mighty big place, but _… there._ He'd located red, swollen Mars.

You'd think that a ship as big as Thunderbird 3 would be easy to find, visually, but it wasn't. All of that spreading chaff, the two speeding moons and necklace of satellites made it tough to spot one IR rocket. He saw the impactor, though; still big as a land-sliding mountain, even from here. Still pointed directly at Earth; blue and pale in the distance.

Something happened to the controls, then. He'd been sitting there, getting his bearings, big hands loosely gripped to the throttle and joystick. Jumped a solid foot when the nav gear started to move on its own.

Virgil grunted in shock, and let go; leaning as far back from those haunted controls as the small pod would let him.

"What the h*ll…?" he muttered, as the pod flipped around, and then began zipping through space like an arrow. Where was he going? Had the alien ship managed to wrest control of his guidance computer? Fighting the stick got him nothing but a painful electric jolt. Twice.

Well, he was wearing a helmet. He could eject. Or… not. Pulling the red handle didn't work, either. The canopy refused to blast open, and the catapult under his seat wouldn't fire.

"Well… sh*t. Looks like I'm taking a ride."

Virgil triggered his short-range wrist comm alert, while groping around for plan B.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _London, former U.K., outside the WorldGov Chancellery building-_

His message had been received, and relayed. Jeff had no sooner left the imposing stone chancellery, than a familiar pink limousine purred up to the kerb, custom-made tyres crunching on pavement.

Jeff Tracy lifted a hand as the big, sleek car pulled to a stop in front of the building's grand staircase. Even in back, the place was ornate and well-guarded. He had his ID checked, yet again, and was cheerfully waved on by WorldGov security. Meanwhile, Parker leapt out of the driver's seat and strode over to open and hold the car door.

"Good h-afternoon, Mister Tracy," said the muscular, grey-haired chauffeur; blue eyes trained on that perfect middle distance.

"Afternoon, Parker. Thank you."

Jeff ducked his tall frame into the limousine, to find Penny inside, with Sherbert. Once again, he was treated to dog-breath and slobbery kisses, as the ecstatic pug leapt up to plant both front paws on his chest and lick his face.

Parker shut the door and went back around to the driver's seat, as Jeff greeted his hosts, and strapped in.

"Thank you, Lady Penelope," he said, handing back that eager small dog. " _And_ Sherbert." (Closest thing he had to a grandchild, at the moment.) "Good of you to pick me up, like this."

"Of course, Jeff," Her Ladyship replied, trying to force images of what she and Scott had done in this car from her thoughts. Managing a smile and graceful nod, she enquired,

"You'll wish to return to your office, I presume?"

Jeff shook his head, as Parker pulled their vehicle away from the Chancellery and back to the road. Not much ground traffic, but then, there never was.

"Not yet, Penny. I'd like you to find someone, first. Only have a first name, but she's one of Shaw's interns. Zara something. She tried to warn me about the Chancellor, and I'm worried that he'll… I'm worried. Want to be sure she's okay."

Lady Penelope kissed Sherbert's nose, then set him down on the leather seat between herself and the Colonel, saying,

"Be a good wee lad… there's a luv. Mummy's working, Dearest."

Then, Penny drew a special gold compact from her vintage black Chanel boy-bag.

"Zara, you say? No ID code, I expect? No? Pity, but there are always workarounds… employee lists… _Ah._ Here we are. Pretty thing, isn't she? Looks rather like me."

The lovely young noblewoman smiled, at that, unconsciously fussing with her blonde up-do. Then, as she learnt more, Penny's smile faded.

"Oh, dear…" she said. "Would have no reason to be out in Battersea Creek, would she?"

"No," Jeff snapped, "she wouldn't. Parker!"

"H- Already movin', Mister Tracy. H-If y'll send those coordinates, Milady, we'll fly there, quick as never-you-mind."

Penelope pressed one of the jewels on her compact.

"Done, Parker. _Do_ hurry, please. The poor dear is sinking."


	15. Chapter 15

Hi, again. Just me. =) Thank you for reading and reviewing, you guys. Thunderbird Shadow, Creative Girl, Bow Echo and Whirl Girl, I appreciate the questions and comments. The short answer is, I'm never sure what's going to happen, until I actually sit down and start writing. Edited.

 **15**

 _The Chaos Cruiser, between Mars and a massive, tumbling death ship-_

The Mechanic had turned, slightly. Not quite facing Scott Tracy, the cyborg growled,

"I won't be going to Mars."

"What?" asked the pilot; half-listening, half still working out how to fly this d*mn crate. "Why not?" There weren't many other places to go, out here, unless you liked pirates.

"Because I don't trust the GDF. They'll try to arrest me."

Without scanners, Scott was having a hard time finding those Interceptors, Thunderbird 3, or his missing brother. Didn't have loads of attention to argue with, but…

"You're with us, Kane. They won't…"

"No," the Mechanic cut him off. "I'm with _me_ , and Horatio's bribe. The GDF will try to arrest me. I'll have to kill them all, and that'll end our alliance."

Tough guy to reason with, since he seemed to have only three settings: stubborn, violent and slyly amused. Knowing all that, Scott tried, anyhow.

"Look, we'll call ahead, advise McCord of the situation, and make sure that he keeps his people well back. Trust and believe, Kane, nobody in their right mind wants… Wait, what's that?"

He'd seen something streaking their way, running lights blinking red and green; like a tiny, fast-moving comet against Mars and that glittering backdrop of stars.

"Your Virgil," the Mechanic grunted. "I summoned the pod."

Sure enough, it _was_ Virgil's ship, moving much faster than normal for a quick-readied pod craft. Something coiled up tight inside of him loosened, just then. Scott relaxed a little, first grinning at the Mechanic, then asking,

"Could you do that with the derelict? Shift its course into the Sun, or something?"

Kane was already unstrapping to rise from his seat. Paid no mind to what was around him, causing those gathered others to spring and bounce from the bulkheads like fleas in a bottle.

"Not alone," he replied. " _That_ one, I helped to build. It knows me. The impactor, I'd have to touch, or get closer to, first. Even then… it's too big for just me."

Scott didn't push it. Would've thanked the Mechanic for finding Virgil, but the big cyborg had started talking, again.

"I'll get your brother aboard. If you lot are headed to Mars, do it in your own ship. I'll stay here, with _them."_ A slight jerk of the machine-man's tattooed head indicated the Hood and Chaos Crew, still time-locked at the back of the cabin.

"No killing," Scott ordered, as the Mechanic shot clear of his seat to first ricochet off the overhead, then impact and lock to the deck. Made a noise like a grand piano, dropped from three stories.

"I'm serious, Kane," the pilot insisted. "No one gets hurt, here. Not even the Hood."

Turning with all the speed and leashed wrath of a penned lion, the Mechanic came within a few inches of Scott and snarled,

"Stop me. Go ahead. Try."

"Dammit, Kane!" the pilot shot back, cords standing out on his neck. Sparkling red lights began to branch and flow through the cockpit, as Scott barked, "Why do you have to push back so hard?! Why is _every_ d*mn thing a fight, with you?!"

The cyborg stared for a long moment, amber eyes ferocious and hard. Then, he said,

"Because sooner or later, Tracy, we're going to be on opposite sides, again. Sooner or later, I'm going to find out how tough you and your brothers really _were."_

A few drifts of that crimson sparkle had landed on Kane's armour. Scott assumed it was some defense of the Chaos Crew's; maybe meant to stop weapons discharges inside of the ship. Gordon had drifted over, by this time, with that kid of his clinging to the swimmer's back like a monkey.

"You don't have to prove every point with a bullet, Mechanic," said the aquanaut. "People disagree all the time without pulling guns, believe it or not. It's called cooperation. Say it with me, now: _Co… op… er… a… tion_. Goes all the way back to when Oog Strongfart and Ungh Bigrocks put down their clubs and stopped bashing each other. Give it a try. The GDF does."

Kane shot him a deeply curdled look, saying,

"Not with our kind, they don't. We fight them, hide from them, or get collared and used. Go ahead. Go to Mars and slave for the GDF. I won't."

But, as he made ready to glide past the heavily muscled young idiot and his pet Dos Santos, Kane hesitated. Just for a moment, something that wasn't quite memory surfaced. He saw two kids… part Typical, maybe part Harris, or Beech. Allies, almost. Had _he_ picked up a couple of stupid, useless d*mn kids, once, the way Dumbass had the Dos Santos? The thought unsettled him; making Kane think of Jakarta, where he still retained a few contacts.

"Get out of my way," he told that sandy-haired, muck-blooded Tracy. "The space pod can't dock with this ship unless I re-mold the hatches, first."

Didn't shoot, though. Had _talked_ to them, which was a helluva lot harder to do.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 5, preparing to leave-_

John thought about things, as he readied Captain O'Bannon's sleek little ship for departure. Working fast, he'd shifted the mass-transfer generator, implanted one of Eos' remote housings, and added an engine; stuff like that. Lots of work, plenty of think time.

He had a few amorphous ideas, thanks to contact from Jaeger, but wouldn't know for sure what to do, till he got there. O'Bannon and Taylor had both expressed a repeated, private interest in coming along, but John didn't want complications. There were enough people he cared about with their necks on the block, as it was. _Somebody_ had to stay safe, and help defend or evacuate Earth. At least Kayo didn't make any trouble, being involved with some problem of Dad's. She didn't offer, and John didn't ask. Too busy, both of them.

As for that love thing… yeah. He'd meant it. O'Bannon outranked him, and she wasn't easy to trick. She was pretty, and he liked that. She understood him, was patient with his slowly growing emotion, and he liked that even better. Didn't know about the future. Right now, wasn't sure that they _had_ one, but he said, before gliding into the altered Mark IV,

"When I get back, let's go have dinner. I know a place."

O'Bannon smiled at him, reaching up to push his slightly float-y red-golden hair around.

"Sounds like a plan, Tracy. Anything but Armenian food. I have a problem with lentils and khash."

"Um… if it doesn't come on a pizza, or between two slices of bread, I probably don't know what it is," John confessed. "But I don't think I've ever seen either of those on the menu."

"Good," Ridley laughed. "Although, if I ever take you to my house, you'll learn about lentils, _and_ colcannon. And, um… I guess you'll meet my folks."

Maybe that was a test. If so, he wanted to pass it. So, John said,

"Wouldn't know a lentil if it bit me on the ankle… but I'll try to be polite, and I'll bring along plenty of ketchup."

By way of response, she leaned forward and kissed him, saying,

"Come back, Tracy; safe, sound and soon."

In a situation like that one, you'd promise her anything, even if you weren't at all sure you could do it. She needed to hear the right words.

"No problem. We'll have it wrapped up in no time, Captain. Back in a flash, I promise."

Shortly afterward (once O'Bannon had shown him the Mark IV's basic maneuvers) John launched, hurtling for Mars just as fast as that cleverly powered-up vessel would carry him.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _London, former U.K-_

FAB-1 was a very swift car, whether on ground, or in flight. Parker knew the area well from 'the olden days', and could switch air traffic lanes like a professional car thief (acquitted). He got them from Vauxhall Cross to the Thames' Battersea Reach in a very few minutes, then banked sharply past an old powerplant and abandoned warehouses, to the short, greenish stretch of Battersea Creek. Very little of the underground river still showed, but what there was, could certainly drown someone.

Parker didn't bother to land, just hovered low over that algae-slick, cement-walled liquid apostrophe and shouted,

"We're right h-on top of 'er, Sir!"

Jeff nodded, kicked open his door, and then leapt out of the car. It was high tide, thank God, so the water was deep enough to keep him from cracking his legs on the bottom. He struck with a stringy-splat, greenish-rank slap, into cold and vegetal water. Saw the girl almost immediately; still in her work clothes, not quite fully sunken. Evidently, the material had trapped some air for a while.

Jeff stroked down from the surface, took hold of her dark, spreading coat dress, and then twisted round like an alligator. Pushed her upward, at that hovering, wavery car. Both Parker and Penny were leaning out, reaching down. Sherbert outdid them both, jumping off the car seat and into that icy-shock water.

The small pug took hold of Zara's wet sleeve with his sharp little teeth, legs going along at a furious paddle. No doubt, there was consternation up top, but the Colonel heard none of it. His ears were too full of the Falcon and Thames' rushing water.

Got the girl pushed up high enough for Parker to seize, and then broke surface, himself. Curious onlookers had gathered at both railed banks of the short creek, bursting into applause as they realized that, once again, the Colonel had done it; gone and saved some poor drunken lass from her tumble into the water. But there… and there… mixed with those happy, video-taking locals, did he see skulking, darkly-dressed men? Did they head off into one of the moldering warehouses? Jeff was too busy sneezing and blinking out water to tell.

What he _could_ see was Sherbert, paddling along beside him with a determined look in those dark, buggy eyes. Jeff took hold of the fat little pug, handing Bertie upward before clambering back into FAB-1, himself.

To her credit, Penny said nothing at all about spoilt upholstery, though he smelt like cold cabbage soup, and looked like the Thing from a Thousand Fathoms. His blue and white GDF uniform was soaked through, and dripping with water weed.

Meanwhile, Zara had been laid out, face down, on the flattened front passenger seat. Parker grunted rhythmically, working hard to push water from the girl's lungs as their car drifted lazily upward.

Jeff coughed a few gallons, himself, accepted a stiff drink, and croaked,

"Is she alive?"

"Yes, Sir," the driver told him, looking up for a moment. "Not comin' round, though. No sign of h-injury, neither. H-I think she's been drugged, Mister Tracy."

"Poor girl," murmured Penelope. "how terribly distressing for her. Had we not come along when we did, she might have been swept to the Thames and drowned, presumed to have fallen in whilst inebriated."

"H-If she was found at all, Milady," said Parker, who left off pushing the girl's back when she coughed up a lungful of greenish-dark water, and moaned. "Shall we take 'er to the 'ospital, then?"

"No," Jeff decided. "Under the circumstances, better not. Chancellor Shaw has a very long reach."

Penelope's delicate brows lifted. Rather sharply, she said,

"His reach does not extend into Creighton-Ward manor, Jeffery. Low, grubby politics shall ever be bested by worthy, aristocratic prestige. Parker, home, if you please. You are quite welcome to stay with us as well, Colonel," she added, over Parker's swift,

"Yes, Milady."

As FAB-1 cut away from the shimmering Thames, Jeff considered. He could always summon an air-car from the motor pool, or work remotely… if he wanted to risk being ordered back to Shaw's office.

"Thank you, Penny. I believe I'll take you up on your offer, for the time being. There's an appointment I need to keep, up near Edinburgh, two days from now. I want to be sure that nothing prevents me from getting there, including Chancellor Shaw."

Lady Penelope briefly stopped toweling off Sherbert, who seemed remarkably pleased with his own daring and dash.

"Hush, Bertie… yes, Dearest, Mummy was _most_ impressed with her little man's courage." Turning from the sodden pug to her paramour's dripping-wet father, she remarked, "Scotland's gone frightfully wild, Colonel. There are things stalking the ruins of Edinburgh that are every bit as fierce as the man-hunter which IR destroyed."

Jeff nodded, thinking: _'Yes, I know. Those are the ones I'm headed out there to meet with.'_

Aloud, he said only,

"I'll be careful, Penny. But someone's requested a… council, of sorts, and I've got a very strong feeling that I have to show up. I think that we're going to need help."


	16. Chapter 16

Hey, there. =) Late one, and sort of short. My hugs and profoundest thanks for your comments and reviews. Will respond, post haste!

 **16**

 _The hijacked space pod, rushing up at a bulbous purple ship-_

Virgil's pulse was racing, his breath beginning to roughen. His course, near as he could tell, would not take him to the giant alien derelict. Neither would it bring him to Thunderbird 3. Instead, the buzzing and juddering space pod was arrowing straight for that uncloaked "pirate ship", which turned out to belong to the Chaos Crew.

Lots of things went through his mind as he recognized the distinctive Cruiser, most of them bad. Havok and Fuse were dangerous criminals, but they weren't thinkers. Muscle for hire, generally, and their very best customer was the Hood.

He felt his muscles tense, as he considered his very few options. Couldn't control the pod, couldn't eject, didn't want to risk waking that death-ship by hitting his comm... and now he was headed for probable kidnap. Used as a hostage, maybe. Weapons? He had his shoulder-mounted laser, of course, but that was for cutting through metal and stone. Sort of final, as solutions went, and highly dangerous, inside of a spaceship. No exo-suit, either. Well, Virgil figured, there was always the pilot-eject system.

Eyeball estimate gave him fifteen minutes till he reached the Cruiser. Plenty of time to tear the ejection-seat's rocket free of its housing, and cook up something persuasive. Humming to himself, Virgil set right to work, unstrapping to press against the perma-glass canopy, looking 'down' at his seat and rebellious controls. This being space, he had no real sense of direction; did not feel upside-down.

His big green utility sash contained a powerful multi-tool, contact explosives, battery packs, extensible pry-bar, wire and chewing gum. All that he needed for a little Tracy-style arts and crafts session.

The pod was entirely modular, put together from parts. Meant it could be disassembled again, quite easily; if you were strong enough, and knew exactly what you were doing. Fortunately, that mysterious, hijacking force did not interfere, seeming interested only in getting him into the hands of the Chaos Crew. Well… he had a trick for that.

Virgil unsnapped and hauled out the seat, square-dancing with the bulky d*mn thing, till he got it turned over. His work space was limited, but he could reach the ejection rocket, which… fun fact… was live, and extremely sensitive. Busy not blowing himself to pieces, the pilot barely noticed when his malfunctioning space pod reached its goal and then rotated, forming a hatch that could dock with the waiting cruiser.

It was tough to miss when the two ships came together, though. That sharp, jarring clang and hiss of mating hatches would have woken a brick or a bowling ball. Virgil came out of his design frenzy, and twisted around. He was done with his wicked new toy by that point, so the pilot swung it up into "welcome honored guests" position, and made ready to be a good host. Didn't waste time wondering how he'd developed a hatch.

It irised open before him, in the exact same spot where his seat had been. He swallowed hard and hung there waiting; canopy facing outward at space, gutted seat drifting and bumping behind his back. Then a second, cruiser-side hatch hissed open, revealing… the Mechanic.

Kane reacted to Virgil's laser-guided, rocket powered slug-thrower by reflexively bringing his own massive rifle to bear. They braced there in micro-G for a few moments; Virgil painted in specular red, Kane with a glowing green dot on his armoured chest. Then, almost conversationally, the pilot said,

"Hey. How's it going?"

The muscular cyborg appeared to consider, arriving at,

"Well enough. Your brother's a fool."

"Which one?" Virgil asked, cautiously peering around the laser sight.

"All of them," the Mechanic informed him, dropping his target lock.

"Take it the Chaos Crew's out of commission?" Virgil probed, letting his weapon's muzzle drift slowly away from Kane's chest.

"Yes. The Hood, as well. Time-locked, until someone releases them." Then, squinting at Virgil's homebrew weapon. "What have you built?"

The pilot grinned broadly. He was never prouder than when boasting about his latest construction, and this was a beauty.

"I know, _right_? Pretty awesome," Virgil told him, handing the firearm over for inspection. "See, I took the ejection rocket and catapult rails, made a quick firing pin and trigger system, incorporated my laser and wrist comm for guidance, and… _presto,_ one homemade, shoulder-mounted shrapnel cannon."

"Impressive," the Mechanic admitted, turning the weapon over in big metal hands. "What are you using for ammo?"

"What've you _got?"_ Virgil joked, cocking an eyebrow. "Right now, it's explosive ejection-seat bolts, screws and wire… but you could use whatever 'll fit down the barrel. This baby's _completely_ adaptable."

"Nicely done," Kane grunted. Then, as the weapon flowed and stretched in the cybermancer's grip, "This is better. More efficient."

Virgil took it back, huffing in mock resentment.

"Well, yeah… if you want to go _that_ route. I mean, fire power's only half the story, Kane. You gotta think reload time, aiming, ease of assembly…"

They started back into the cruiser, Virgil gliding, Kane walking along the deck beside him. Discussed the finer points of weaponry, as the space pod simply melted into the outer hull, noisily forming a sudden gun turret. Virgil glanced the way they'd come, then back to his (maybe, almost) friend.

"Okay, yeah… now, you're just showing off."

"Talent," said Kane, with unconcealed pride. He was a prince among his own kind for more than one reason, here to assist the Tracys… and soon, he'd be left all alone with his one-time captor, the Hood.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _London, former U.K., roaring through the air in FAB-1:_

Flying northwestward, away from the city, Parker kept a weather eye on their rescued passenger. She remained unconscious, but was breathing unaided. _Too easy_. Troubled, the driver glanced into the rearview mirror, cleared his throat, and said,

"Beggin' yer pardon, Milady…"

Penelope's head turned gracefully forward, big blue eyes showing mild curiosity.

"Yes, Parker?" she enquired, as the colonel, too, looked his way.

"Been chasin' the h-odd thought 'round my noggin, Milady."

"Have you, indeed?" her ladyship prompted, as the misty-green countryside rolled past, below, and hundreds of air-cars sped by. "And where has your pondering led you, Parker?"

"Well…" he began, frowning somewhat. "H-It seems to me that we found the lass rather simply, and 'er tossed in the drink like a dead cat... but not so quick as to drown before we could get there. H-All seems a bit staged, if you take my meanin', Milady… Colonel Tracy. H-I'd feel better if one of you was to scan 'er for trackin' devices."

Lady Penelope's eyes narrowed fiercely. Glancing at Jeff, she nodded. Almost reflexively, the Colonel's hand had gone to his wrist comm… which was now with Chancellor Shaw. Being reverse-engineered, no doubt. He'd have to get Brains to come up with a better version, _fast._

"Never mind, Colonel Tracy," she consoled him, reaching into her quilted, black leather bag for a certain gold compact. "A Creighton-Ward is always equal to the exigencies of the moment."

Unstrapping from her seat, the young noblewoman leaned far forward, open compact in hand. A touch to one of its jeweled studs converted the mirror into a small screen. A further swift tap turned its scanning app on.

Jeff was only half watching. Outside, just far enough away to seem coincidental, a sleek, robotic drone paced their car. It flew in the empty "official business" skyway lane, between thundering streams of traffic. Not news media… those were all labeled by reporter, or channel. Not law enforcement or medical, either. Just an odd-looking white drone, with a single long stabilizer fin, and a narrow, horizontal green "eye".

The thing never came too close, but never strayed; even when Parker changed lanes and altitude. About as coincidental, Jeff figured, as those two skulking thugs at the "accident site". He looked away from the window when Penelope murmured,

"There it is! Just as you surmised, Parker. The poor dear's been implanted with a transmitter, just beneath the hairline, at the back of her neck."

"We're also being followed," Jeff informed them, voice raspy-tight from his plunge in the creek.

"Yes, sir, Mister Tracy. H-I've noticed," said the driver. "Been doin' me best to shake the blighter, but h-it seems able to find us h-again, no matter what trick's bein' pulled, and I knows 'em h-all. That's what put me to mind of a transmitter."

Penelope, meanwhile, had pressed a seatback switch, causing a set of virtual steering controls to appear before her. Bertie yipped anxiously, but she shushed him, murmuring fondly,

"Courage, Bertie… there's a stout lad. Mummy's working, still." And, "Parker, if you would be so good as to transfer control, you shall find yourself at liberty to locate and remove the offending transmission device. I suggest that you do so swiftly, and then heave the wretched thing from the window."

"Yes, Milady. H-At once."

Jeff watched with interest as the lovely young operative took control of their vehicle, leaving Sherbert to _him._ That drone continued to pace them, close enough that he could read its ID code. Had he still had his wrist comm, he might have tried wresting control of the thing… but he was a passenger, down to his wits and an eager, small pug.

FAB-1 dipped and swooped a bit. Penny wasn't a _bad_ driver, precisely… just not very skilled in three full dimensions of flight. Did better on the ground, he hoped. Then again, her awkward lane changes and fluttering swoops seemed to confuse the h*ll out of that drone, especially when Parker got the transmitter out of Zara, and chucked it out the window. There was a brief, tingling blast of cold air, high pressure and wind noise. Then the window sealed itself shut, again.

"There," announced their driver, with evident satisfaction. "That's done it. The bug weren't put in very deep, _or_ very well. Rush job, looks like... Not that H-I knows from experience."

He'd stripped off a pair of plastic gloves and dabbed at Zara's neck with a sterile wipe, before cleaning his own hands.

"H-If you don't mind my sayin' so, Milady… a small change of itinerary might be h-in order."

Lady Penelope nodded.

"Right you are, Parker," she agreed briskly, transferring control of the big, purring car to her driver. "The hunting lodge, I should think… once we've lost our metallic companion, that is."

Parker smiled and cracked his big, swollen knuckles. Taking the wheel again, he said,

"H-It'll be a right pleasure, Milady. There 'asn't a drone been constructed yet, what can keep up with Aloysius Parker. 'Old on to Sherbert, Milady. This might get a bit rough."


	17. Chapter 17

Hi, you guys. =) Thanks for reading and reviewing!

 **17**

 _Thunderbird 3, in orbit around Mars-_

On the theory that he was bigger, and therefore easier to spot, Alan had slipped his Bird into high orbit. Not pinging, or generating any real comm noise, but blazing every light that he had and, well… sort of shimmying. Picked up two of those Interceptors; one in good shape, one partly destroyed. The fighters were short-range vehicles, not meant to spend loads of time in space. More hit-and-run types; and too far from Mars to make it back, before they ran out of fuel (especially since only the towing space-fighter had any).

Alan got the pilots close enough to their base to head home, giving Lieutenants Singer and Reeves a cheery wave on the way out. Stayed between them and that giant alien ship, too, long enough to see them safely around the limb of the planet. Then, he parked Thunderbird 3, circling Mars like a bloodhound.

Finding the Chaos Cruiser was tough. Alan had to let _them_ come to him, which took almost three hours. He'd been going nuts; forcing himself not to call out or scan, putting off heading for Mars base, and singing a hundred dang verses of _'The Song That Never Ends',_ when finally, he saw them.

"Woo-hoo!" Alan exulted, punching the air and bouncing against his seat straps. _"There_ they are!"

His brothers hadn't crashed into the derelict, been captured and sold by space pirates, or any of the thousand other horrible things his worries had conjured. So, okay, that was the frickin' Chaos Cruiser, and he couldn't actually talk to anyone… some kind of wrist comm interference, now… but, at least he wasn't just waiting around.

Back in his element, the young astronaut used his steering rockets to roll Thunderbird 3, so that her docking hatch faced the oncoming Cruiser. Best if they did most of the fine maneuvering, being so much more agile. His job was just to wait for hook-up and boarding… and hope that it really _was_ Scott, Virgil and Gordon in there.

"Okay, Scott… I know that's you," he muttered, "'Cause nobody e _lse_ is gonna drive, unless they tie you up, first… Nice and easy, just like the sim. Bring her in… _NO!_ Too close, too close! Whew, that's better… there you go! Match speeds and roll 3.5 degrees starboard…"

And so on. Of course, Scott couldn't actually hear him, but it always made Alan feel better to talk. He and the cruiser matched speeds, floating side by side over the dry, barren surface of Mars. The smaller ship nuzzled as close as a newborn baby whale, making little darts and jets of gas to align itself with Thunderbird 3. Alan helped out some. The Mechanic (or somebody) altered their hatches to fit without a boarding tube, and the two ships at last came together; docking with a loud, booming clang and the hiss of matched air pressure.

The golden-blond astronaut unstrapped in a hurry, grabbed something vaguely weapon-like, and then soared off for the airlock. Y'know… just in case his boarders turned out to be space pirates, after all.

Caught himself on a bulkhead brace and stopped, when he saw Virgil come swooping in, towing a bungie-cord string of bobbing and crashing, frozen villains. The Hood and Chaos Crew, caught in mid-threat and savage snarl, like the world's ugliest string of Christmas tree lights. Alan blinked, and then started to laugh, doubling up in midair as his spanner went drifting away.

"What… _how…?"_

"Laugh it up, Gumdrop," growled Virgil. "They're all yours, now. Find a storage locker, or something, and bar the outside. No way Scott's leaving them behind." _With the Mechanic,_ he did not say aloud.

Alan had busted out whooping so hard that he cried, and had to wipe twin, quivery tear-domes off of both eyes.

"Oh, crap…" he gasped, accepting the tow-rope. "That's awesome. What happened? You guys ran into Medusa, or something?"

"No," said Scott, gliding in, next. "We bumped into a kid with some really weird time powers. Ask Gordon… _after_ you deal with our 'guests'."

Alan cocked his blond head like a curious monkey, flicking the Hood's stony cheek with a forefinger.

"Will they stay like this?" he asked, moving down the line to peer at Havok, who seemed to be in pain; nose and ears bloodied, eyes squinted half-shut.

"Long as _he's_ here," replied Scott, jerking his head at Gordon, who'd just come aboard with a very young, wide-eyed boy.

"Hey, Buddy!" cried Alan, delightedly. (Anytime he wasn't the youngest, was a good day for Al.) "Welcome aboard! How's it going?"

Only, the little guy didn't seem very friendly. Sort of scared and confused, clinging tight to Gordon's right hand.

"It's okay, Kiddo," said the swimmer. "He's my _other_ other brother. Sort of goofy, but you get used to him, after awhile."

 _Really?_ That was _it?_ Goofy, but tolerable in small doses? Alan scowled at his jerk-face brother, moving in close and snapping,

"Yeah?! Well…"

"No!" Gordon cried out…

…and then Alan blinked, having apparently blacked out for a few seconds. Like, woke up in a totally different place, with Scott and Virgil around him, looking worried.

"You okay, Al?" asked his oldest brother, seizing both of his shoulders in an iron-hard grip.

"Uh, yeah… fine, I think. Why?"

"Nothing," Scott sighed, letting go.

Added Virgil,

"No more yelling. No sudden moves at Gordon or Charlie, until he figures out we're all friends."

Charlie? That kid? Alan looked around, super-confused to find himself down in Medical.

"How'd I get _here?"_ he asked. "What the heck just happened?"

"You got time-locked," Scott told him, moving away, now that Al was awake, again. "Fill him in, Virge. I've got to get back to the cockpit."

As their always-busy, very stressed older brother left the cabin, Virgil turned back to Alan, saying,

"Long story, Sprout. Got a minute?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _FAB-1, coming down over Clarendon-_

The family hunting-lodge was an ancient stone palace. Set in a lush, park-like wood, it had been leased to the Creighton-Wards by a cash-strapped royal in 1533. It was a grand old place, built of dressed flint and lime-washed masonry. Charmingly ramshackle, too, with its four buildings and gatehouse gathered conspirator-close round a paved central courtyard.

It was there that Parker touched down, after having shaken his passengers like dice in a cup, getting shed of that drone. FAB-1 came in with a low, humming roar, settling to the flagstones with a very slight creaking of springs and gimballing tyres; creating a whirlwind of leaves.

The gatekeeper turned out in surprise, along with the family's game warden. No other staff appeared, for the tenants had not been expected back for another month.

"Milady!" cried Morris, her stout, cheerful gatekeeper. "There's nothin' prepared, Ma'am! We hadn't thought…"

Penelope stepped from the limousine with a hand-up from Parker; appearing somewhat battered and damp, but luminous in the fading light of late autumn.

"No matter, Morris. It is a mere visit. We should prefer as little notice as possible, if you please. Sandwiches, tea and mead in the hall. Build up a fire, as well. The Colonel has taken a chill, and we've a half-drowned young lady in need of assistance. You might ring the village doctor."

"Yes, Milady," said the white-haired, treasured old servant. "Chilton, help Her Ladyship's guests inside!"

Beside the doctor, Morris managed to produce a daughter, Elspeth, to assist at the house. Rather impressive, how homey she made the old lodge, and how swiftly she managed a meal.

As the doctor attended young Zara, upstairs, Jeff and Penelope waited in the great hall. A fire had been lit in the big, marble-pillared hearth, which looked capacious enough to roast a whole ox. Its flames crackled and leapt, mumbling logs like a contented old dog with a beef shank. Tapestries and portraits hung on the walls, giving the giant room a bit of color. Furniture was a mix of heavy old wood and worn crimson velvet.

Jeff sat on a chair that was probably older than he was. He faced the flames, feeling tired, but restless. Drank the warm mead that Elspeth had brought, finished a third ham sandwich, and considered what to do next. Having already called Brains about the confiscated wrist comm, the Colonel had other problems.

His presence here… and Zara's… might very well endanger Penelope. After all, the hunting lodge was no secret. Once they'd failed to turn up in Creighton-Ward manor, this, and the family's Australian estate, would be next on the list of logical hiding places. After that, Tracy Island. Question was, where could he go that Shaw _wouldn't_ expect?

 _'Scotland,'_ he decided. _D*mned if he'll be set for the badlands, or willing to follow me in.'_

Setting his pewter cup down on a low-crouching table, Jeff turned to his hostess and said,

"Penny, I have to leave, and take the girl along with me."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _The Chaos Cruiser, near enough to that alien ship to keep watch-_

He'd been temporarily robbed, but was learning patience. After all, there was more than one way to get at the Hood, and a wise man made use of his resources.

"Beech," the Mechanic rumbled, "come here."


	18. Chapter 18

Hi there, just me again.

 **18**

 _Mars Base, the space port-_

In what he later admitted was a giant mistake, Scott Tracy allowed Thunderbird 3 to land in the base cargo hangar facility; a below-ground docking complex capable of handling everything from zippy, small Interceptors to big, lumbering freighters. Huge, metal gates and force shields protected hangar crews and cargo from the deadly conditions on Mars, while allowing the free passage of traffic and goods.

As that alien derelict tumbled farther away from the planet, Thunderbird 3 blazed down into the hangar on a shimmering column of flame. She fit, just, and was immediately the centre of frantic attention. Green-suited pit crews came racing out of their armoured niches, carrying hoses and fastening lines.

The hangar boss, a Captain Hesse, came forward with an armed guard, the lot of them riding a clanking motorized gantry. It ground its way across the hangar on big metal treads, because the passenger holding area was too far to be reached via boarding tube. Once the mobile steel tower docked with 3's hatch, Hesse welcomed International Rescue, and scanned their ID codes.

Charlie was a problem, as the kid didn't turn up on any populace data base at all, but _did_ trigger a security alert. Evidently, his retinal scan scored a hit on 'inventory', where he was listed as missing.

Scott simply turned on the charm and told the truth; that they'd encountered Charlie as a prisoner of the Hood, and liberated him. By mutual, silent accord, nobody mentioned Beech, or the Mechanic.

Captain Hesse could've been a jerk about the whole thing, but she saw "little boy", not "stolen equipment". Shaking her blonde head, she hit security override, ending that beeping alert.

"Gotta be some kind of mistake," she decided, smiling at Gordon's wide-eyed small shadow. "Bet he was born out in the belt, somewhere, at an illegal mining operation."

One of her Marine guards winced and nodded, saying,

"Belt pirates might've done for his folks, Ma'am, and then tried to sell him. That's what happened to me and my sister. Colonel Tracy stopped 'em, though."

The look he gave Scott was pure, stubborn gratitude. Captain Hesse nodded.

"Happens too often to be remarkable, I'm afraid… but I'm glad the Tracys were able to make a difference for Jennings, over here, and _this_ little guy. You'll find nothing but friends on Mars, Gentlemen."

" _Not_ a little guy. I'm a _big_ guy," insisted Charlie, adding, "I'm a God dan Tracy."

The Marines nearly fell over the railing, laughing at his out-thrust lower lip and fierce scowl. Captain Hesse just smiled at the boy, saying,

"Oh, well… that's different, then. Your pardon, Mister Tracy."

"I'll claim him," Gordon cut in, placing both gloved hands on the boy's thin shoulders. "Have to retro-file an offspring request form, and pay my fines, but… I'll say that he's mine."

Patently ridiculous, because Gordon Tracy wasn't old enough to have fathered an apparently ten-year-old boy. Hesse grinned at him.

"That works," she said. "I'll put off listing your son's arrival until the paperwork's sorted. Wouldn't be the first time we've had to scurry to account for a sudden up-tick in the population of Mars."

The tall, boney captain glanced at her Marines as she said this, but they were all checking their weapons, or the overhead, or the latest perimeter scans. Four more innocent, industrious men you could not have found, anywhere.

As the high metal gantry rattled its way across the hangar floor, parting hurrying crews of technicians and pilots like a big rock in the midst of a flood, Hesse remarked,

"Of course... you'll have to put the boy down as a Martian citizen, or I won't be able to sign off on him."

Gordon nodded his sandy-blond head.

"Yes, Ma'am. Born on Mars. I got it. What birthday?"

"May and July are open," said Scott, who'd been listening with interest. "So's September."

"I vote September," put in Virgil. "It's warmer, then. Better weather. Grandma's gonna be happy. She's always complaining that there aren't any kids around the place. But, um… you can… I mean, he'll…?"

"Not freeze anybody?" asked Alan. "Unless, like, they want to skip a visit from the aunts and cousins, or something. I'd _pay_ to get frozen, through that."

None of this made any sense to Captain Hesse or her escort. But then, the Tracys were allowed their mysterious ways. They were heroes, plain and simple. As the boarding gantry clanged home against a railed cement dock, Hesse changed the subject.

"I've let your teammate know that you've arrived. He should be waiting for you at Airside B, in the private lounge."

 _Teammate?_ Scott wondered. When the double airlock swirled open, he peered into the private lounge, and saw who she'd meant.

"John!" the pilot called out, bounding from gantry to spaceport. "Good to see you, Little Brother." And then, seizing his shoulders to give him a sharp, friendly shake, "Why aren't you in Thunderbird 5?!"

"Because I'm here," said the tall astronaut, with inarguable logic. "I, uh… had some intel that you guys could use a hand."

The others were filing through the spaceport doors a few at a time, but for now, it was just Scott, John, smooth jazz, and a few rows of empty chairs. Rather than fuss about orders, Scott groused,

"Would you believe we ended up with the Hood, the Chaos Crew _and_ their two captives? At least one with some kind of weird time powers?"

John considered, as he followed Scott a little farther away from their emerging brothers.

"Well, yeah," he said. "Since you don't usually lie… except to Grandma, about her cooking… I'd believe you." Kane had mentioned other Special families. Maybe the Hood had stolen a few of them?

He didn't get a chance to push that thought any further, because next into the waiting area was Pete McCord. The base commander entered through a door marked "official use only", and headed right for Scott and John. Striding across to join them, their dad's old friend shook both their hands.

"Attention on deck!" snapped Captain Hesse. She, the four Marines and John stood very erect, until McCord said,

"At ease." Then, signaling the two eldest boys aside with a jerk of his head, he murmured, "The object's still slowing down and gaining mass. How, we don't know, unless it can sense and manipulate energy fields. What I _do_ know is, we've got to find a way to stop the d*mn thing, or begin evacuating Earth. Projections have it striking the Pacific Ocean in 33 days. Ideas?"

"That's what we're here to figure out, Sir," Scott assured the short, weary admiral. "We've got people on the case back home, and the four… _five_ of us here, on site. Like Gordon said before, we haven't lost one yet, and we don't mean to start now."

Bold words, but Scott Tracy meant every last one of them.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _The Chaos Cruiser, at about the same time-_

It wasn't difficult to compel Beech's assistance. He was confused, alone and as wary of 'regular' humans as Kane was. Might have been smarter to stay in orbit as directed, but the Mechanic had a grudge to settle, and he'd never been very good at following orders. That's why he piloted that cloaked purple ship to the surface of Mars, near what Beech had identified as a hangar emergency exit.

Scott Tracy… Ramrod… had struggled to manage the Cruiser in flight, because Kane was already her master. No vessel he entered or touched would resist his command… as long as it wasn't too big. The effect wore off with distance. He'd had some fun with the oldest Tracy, though, making the Cruiser balky and slow just to bother him. That had been sport. Now, the Mechanic was after blood, and meant to get what he wanted, in spades.

They touched down with a gentle thump on the red, rock-strewn surface of Mars. It was nearly midday, with a pale little sun high in the pinkish-white sky. The Cruiser was cloaked, but Kane took care to land softly, anyhow. This was going to be surgery, not a massacre.

The Chaos Cruiser's main equipment locker had yielded a few spare environment suits, so he had Beech struggle into one of them. A challenge, because some were too small, while the others… meant for Fuse… were far bigger than his slender ally. No matter. The Mechanic simply altered the chosen suit with a touch and a moment's concentration. Then, after blinding all nearby sensors to their presence, they left the cruiser.

"Don't get distracted, Beech," Kane snarled, when his companion nearly tripped on their boarding ramp, from looking around. "This isn't a d*mn tour, and you're not among family."

"I'm sorry," said the pale-haired young man. "It's just… I've never been off-planet before, and… Well, this is _Mars."_

Kane followed his gaze for a moment or two, taking in low, wrinkled hills, a distant, keening dust-devil, and lots of rock.

"Looks like Scotland. Only, worse. Shut up and pay attention, Beech. If you die out here, I'll have two bodies to dispose of, instead of just one."

…which was certainly motivational. Kane's fearsome aura was set on low, at the moment, but Cody had no doubt at all that he meant what he said. Their boots crunched and scuffed on sand, ice and dust. Gusty breathing and occasional grunts sounded loud in the young men's comms, as they made their way from the cloaked ship to that half-buried emergency exit hatch.

The red world's gravity was one-quarter that of Earth, so moving around should have been easy, but they'd also just spent a day and a half in space. It was a lot like getting out of the ocean after a very long swim, and then trying to walk on the shore. You got wobbly legs, and had to remember what watching your step was like.

They had plenty of practice time, as Kane hadn't wanted to risk landing the Cruiser too close to a possibly guarded route. Would have worked on erasing their tracks, except that a constant, light wind was doing that for them, already.

Cody had gotten his Mars legs by the time they reached the big, round exit hatch and dusted it off. Kane squatted down to place a gleaming cyborg hand on its pitted dark metal. He was quite a bit more flexible than Beech, wearing some kind of slick, transparent plastic instead of a spacesuit. Didn't rip the hatch open, or anything. Just spoke to it; convincing its mechanism that he had every right to be there, and that it needn't report being opened. Nice trick, that.

Whatever could have gone wrong, tried to occur, Cody shifted away. Since trouble down below might give away their intrusion, the young adept did his best to move the stuff of chaos to that twining, humming dust-devil; making it suddenly stronger.

"Get in," grunted the cyborg, once he'd gotten the outer hatch unlocked and opened. "I'll follow. Don't touch the next hatch. I've still got some explaining to do."

Cody followed instructions. He'd been captured by the Hood, Kane had told him, then rescued when the Tracys and Mechanic boarded and seized the Chaos Cruiser. Now, he was here. Not a captive. Not a friend. Just… useful.

They had to climb down a thirty-foot, wall-mounted ladder to reach the icy inner hatch. Kane did not immediately open it. First, he got to know the operating system and mechanism; touching and reconfiguring as he did so. Next, the big cyborg triggered detox, so that no perchlorates or dust blew into the hangar and betrayed their presence. Only then, with the alarms switched off and alerts disabled, did the Mechanic risk prying open that second hatch.

The rest would be a simple matter of avoiding surveillance and dodging the guards, as they found their way to Thunderbird 3, and its time-locked captives.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Clarendon, the Creighton-Ward hunting lodge-_

Penelope had sat bolt upright in her big wooden chair, shocked by Jeff's words.

"Surely, you cannot be serious, Colonel?" objected the lovely aristocrat. "Zara is in no condition to travel, and wherever can you mean to go, that would be safer than Clarendon, with Parker and I?"

Jeff leant forward in his seat. He was careful not to disturb Bertie, who lay curled up and snoring in his lap.

"It's _because_ of Zara that I need to leave, Penny," he told her. "We aren't hidden, here. Just further out of the way. There's been one attempt on her life, already, indicating that she's _absolutely_ in danger. Shaw could send a security patrol to your door, or to the Island, and demand the girl's return. He's the _Chancellor,_ Penny. I'd have no choice but to follow orders. The only real option I've got is to go someplace completely out of reach. Someplace I'm supposed to be, anyway."

Penelope drank some more mead, big blue eyes steady over the rim of her silvery cup. It gleamed in the firelight as she set it back down again.

"You mean Scotland?" Penny enquired. Warm light shone on her long, golden hair, warming the curve of her cheekbone and jaw. "The northern wastes are no place at all for an injured girl, Colonel Tracy. Unless, of course, Parker and I take you wherever it is that you're bidden to be. I should think that the Chancellor would have a few choice words for us, as well, and would rather not answer his knock."

Jeff frowned, murmuring, "Thank you", as Elspeth poured him another cup of warmed honey-wine.

"I don't want to involve you, Penny," he told her, accepting an offer of buttered tea cake.

"In that, I fear you are somewhat too late," said Lady Penelope. "Parker and I became complicit in this matter, as soon as we bore you away from the chancellery and aided in Zara's rescue. I have no desire to answer questions as to your possible whereabouts, Jeffery. Far better… and safer… to simply accompany you. No doubt, the dear child would feel better, having another woman along. More proper that way."

They stared at one another, as flames crackled, and logs split, sending showers of glittering sparks up the chimney and into the night. Then, Jeff said,

"I don't know what I'll find out there, Penelope. I've been summoned to a meeting by… other beings. Weaponised 'Specials'." _Like me,_ he didn't add.

Penelope emitted the very faintest, most lady-like of snorts.

"Mere myth and superstition, Colonel. No one of sense and breeding truly _believes_ those old tales. As well attempt to put me off by invoking the shade of Hamlet's father, or the two princes in the Tower!"

Jeff would have protested, but he was cut off when old Doctor Knox appeared, coming downstairs from the 'Queen's Chamber'. The colonel stood up, shifting Sherbert over to Lady Penelope.

"Doctor?" he asked, coming forward to shake the man's hand. "How is she?"

"Fighting her way through the drug, Colonel Tracy," said the physician, shaking his white-maned head. "She's been heavily over-medicated. Whoever dosed her so, hadn't the first notion what they were doing. She alternates between heavy sleep and periods of restless hallucination. I've injected a broad-spectrum re-uptake drug, but it may be sometime in working." Smiling ruefully, the old doctor said, "Reminds one of that old adage: whistling up a wind is certain to prove effective, provided one whistles long enough."

Penny placed a slim hand on the physician's dark sleeve.

"I thank you for all that you've done, Doctor Knox. The Children's Home shall certainly see the benefit of your kindness."

That home was a cause dear to the old man's heart, Penny knew. And, while the Creighton-Wards gave quite tidy sums on a yearly basis, that amount could certainly stand some adjusting.

"I believe I'll run upstairs to sit with the lass, till she's able to tell us what happened."

Doctor Knox patted her hand. He'd known Penny, and her brother Clarence, all of their lives.

"Call me at need, Lady Penelope. Colonel, a good evening to you, Sir… and many thanks for saving the Reliant, all those years gone. That was my son who called for help, when the captain was shot. You saved his life, Sir."

Jeff thought back; recalled a drifting, hulled ship and mutinous crew, dangerously close to crashing on Venus.

"That was a tough one, alright," he admitted. "Lee and I couldn't have pulled it off without help from the rest of the Space Corps… but your son made the first, most important difference. He kept them all alive and functioning till we could get there and bring those people out. He's the reason there was anyone left to save, Doctor."

Watching the old man straighten… shoulders back, head proudly erect… Penelope smiled. The colonel had that effect on people, and not only the ones that he'd saved.

"We're terribly proud of our Stuart," the doctor said gruffly, suddenly blinking a lot. "Captain of his own ship, he is."

"Congratulations, Doctor. I know what it means to have children you can be proud of."

They shook hands once again, having said all that needed saying. The old man waived his bill, content to leave with a bag of sandwiches, and a story to tell. Said Penny, touching Jeff's shoulder, once they were alone,

"You are very dear to them all, Colonel… and Shaw had best beware that he does not stir up a hurricane."


	19. Chapter 19

Hi! =) Thank you, Tikatu, Bow Echo, Whirl Girl and Thunderbird Shadow, for reading and reviewing.

 **19**

 _Clarendon Palace, the ancient and picturesque Creighton-Ward hunting lodge-_

A number of hasty calls had been placed and arrangements made, with all the speed that Penny could muster. After all, what they chiefly needed was time.

It was early morning when a swarm of GDF drones and airships descended upon the estate and its park-like, well maintained wood. Dropping from the grey, pre-dawn sky with that rumbling hum one associates with extraterrestrial invasion fleets, five Stingray-class troop carriers and a cloud of seeker-drones surrounded the slumbering lodge. Most landed outside of its high stone walls. One, however, settled directly into the courtyard. There was another vehicle there, already; a sleek and sporty red aircar, of the sort favoured by wealthy young men (or balding and desperate older ones).

The big, grey troop carrier landed; hovering in place, rather than touching those ancient slate flagstones. A ramp whirred from the vehicle's undercarriage, allowing a tall, grim-faced woman to step forth and descend. Colonel Casey, it was; flanked by a squad of armed GDF troopers. She wore a razor-creased blue and white dress uniform, while her crew were kitted for work in basic army green.

"Have your men check the buildings, grounds and stables," she said to the ranking trooper, who saluted her crisply, barked,

"Yes, Ma'am!" and began calling orders.

Casey acknowledged the man's salute, then sighed. Frowned up at the house for a moment, tugging her uniform into better shape. As there was no sense putting off the inevitable, she stalked across the courtyard to the hunting lodge's big, carved double doors, which crowned the top of a flight of graceful stone steps. No lights, no noise, no smoke, nor did anyone come forth to greet her.

"Hard way it is, then," the officer muttered.

She was not comfortable in this place, for excessive wealth and privilege had always depressed her. Nevertheless, as her troops fanned out to explore the estate and its sprawling game park, the colonel squared her shoulders and trudged up those pink marble stairs. They were dewy-wet and flecked with damp autumn leaves, hedged on both sides by a curving stone balustrade. There were tall, ornate iron posts set at intervals, meant to hold torches. _Ridiculous,_ she thought.

Like their lands, homes, wealth and title, the Creighton-Wards were considered a sort of "scheduled monument", and not to be molested in any way. This made what should have been a basic search-and-seizure operation into a grade-one headache.

There was no ID scanner or camera at the entry, of course. Clarendon was actually forbidden to be altered or modernised. So, Colonel Casey simply knocked; a hard, authoritative rat-tat-tat. The sound did not boom out as she would have liked. Rather, it clattered, as if she'd dropped an old wooden pencil. There was no response from within.

Scowling, the dark-haired woman stepped forward and knocked again, really hammering, this time.

"Open up!" she called out. "This is Colonel Casey, of the Global Defense Force, and I have a warrant to search these premises!"

She heard a loud, belling howl from within, and then something scuffing at the other side of the door. Took an involuntary step backward, as… if the source of that howl matched it for size and ferocity… she did not wish to confront that canine monstrosity.

One of those broad wooden doors, the left, creaked open a bit, revealing a blinking, sleepy face and a huge, straining black dog. Colonel Casey took another step back, as her escort brought up their tasers and 'peace keepers'. Then, someone said,

"Fotheringay, you old scoundrel, about dashed… hullo, who's that?"

The face belonged to a slim, handsome young fellow of about twenty-three, wearing paisley silk pajamas, with a claret-coloured wool robe slung carelessly over his shoulders. He had limp, pale brown hair and very clear blue eyes behind a pair of old-fashioned, wire framed glasses.

"Down, Scout! Down, I say! Confounded hound of the Baskervilles…!"

As the young man struggled to control his dog, who looked as though it ought to have had two more heads and a spiked iron collar or three, Casey repeated,

"I have a warrant to search these premises, Sir. Please step aside."

The fellow blinked at her mildly, seeming still half-asleep.

"Not Fotheringay at all. Late again, blast the rogue! But, where are my manners? Come in, Sergeant, come in!"

"It's Colonel Casey," she corrected him, trying not to sound as edgy and uncomfortable as she felt. With the sun just sending a few tentative spears over the horizon, Casey half-turned her head and said, "Follow me."

Now, the young man peered at her over his spectacle rims, hauling that drooling black monster back by its wide leather collar.

"Of course! The director! Do come in, Colonel. I'm afraid there's not much in the way of service and polish, at the moment. Just camping here, what? Was expecting an odd chum or two, for a shooting weekend. Permits on file, I assure you!"

He'd opened the door by this time, executing an endearingly clumsy bow and flourish.

"Welcome to Clarendon Palace. Suppose I'd better introduce myself, what? Clarence Parsifal William Creighton-Ward, at your service, Colonel Casey. Care for a spot of something medicinal? Among my varied talents is a dab-hand at cocktails. Never too early to begin making the world a better place, I always say!"

The dog hadn't budged. Besides being black and shaggy, with cold yellow eyes, its head came up to Casey's chest, and she was not a short woman.

"What… sort of breed _is_ this?" the colonel demanded, edging cautiously past the softly rumbling dog.

Clarence smiled and mussed at its pointed ears.

"Impressive, is he not? Bit of a mistake, aren't you, old chum? But we get on like a house on fire, for all that."

Looking back up at the colonel, he smiled and said,

"As you may know, Colonel, the Clarendon Wood has been declared an ice-age game park, so we've aurochs, Irish elk and forest bison cavorting about the premises, together with the odd saber-toothed cat. No luck fetching in that herd of mastodons I wanted, though… those selfish Siberian chappies won't part with the beasts. Right, then. At any rate… the early attempts at gen-modding a dire wolf produced my friend Scout, here. Not quite up to standard as an ice-age predator, I fear… but just the thing as man's giant best friend, what?"

The massive hell-hound actually wagged its bushy tail and licked Clarence's face. Casey stared.

"Yes, very nice," she managed, at last. "Now, if you don't mind, Lord Clarence…"

"Oh, tosh!" he demurred, waving a negligent hand. "Call me Clarence, please, or C-W. Not the sorts to stand on ceremony, are we, Scout?"

"Clarence, then. As I said, I have a warrant to search these premises, so, if you'll stand aside…"

"Oh, spiffing! A tour!" he enthused, bounding to the entry hall's center, then striking a dramatic pose on the inlaid mosaic tiles. "Ladies and gentlemen, Clarendon Palace is a grade 1 listed building, with parks, gardens and wood comprising several hundred square miles of prime…"

"Thank you, Clarence. That won't be necessary." Casey signaled her team forward. They began moving into the house, carrying scanners and taser weapons. Lifting, prying and poking… but very carefully.

The young nobleman looked dejected, briefly, then brightened once more.

"Cocktail?" he offered, turning toward the shadowy main hall. The fire was banked to embers, now; looking like feral eyes in a forest.

"No, thank you. I'm here to search for two missing people. One was the victim of, and principal witness to, an attempted murder. The other is… a friend, who may be in trouble."

Clarence blinked owlishly.

"Jove, and all of his brats, how exci… erm, dreadful for you. Well, _I_ shall have a drink, at any rate. Find that it stirs up the humours and provokes deep thought."

With that, Clarence Creighton-Ward strolled off to the huge, high-ceilinged main hall, and thence, to a massive wood liquor cabinet. Beginning to mix himself something of paint-stripping, rock-drilling force, he enquired,

"If you don't mind, Colonel… for whom are you searching? Wait, I have it! The ancient relation. Aunt Sylvia, I shouldn't wonder. The old harridan's quite capable of undertaking _any_ crime, to bolster the family coffers. Be happy to give you her address. No…? Then… good heavens, _do_ tell me it isn't old Fotheringay?!"

His blue eyes, so like his sister's, had gone suddenly wide.

"Bit of a rascal, owes the odd sum, here and about, but surely not enough that anyone would attempt to douse the old chap! Topper Fotheringay and I go, as they say, "way back". If he's sailed into tight straits, Colonel, I should be most happy to…"

"No," Casey cut him off, only half listening, as she watched the screen of her data pad. On it, her squad were blue dots, combing the park and house like swarming ants. Not finding anything, either. After a moment, the frustrated officer looked back up at Lord Clarence, who'd plunked himself down in a big wooden chair to nurse his drink; one hand on the head of that monstrous wolf-dog.

"Clarence," she said, trying to smile. "Has your sister been here, recently?"

"Pee-Dee? Not to my knowledge. Rather a town lass, our Pee-Dee. Likes to gad about with the London smart-set. More of a country lad, myself. One ought to know what one stands to inherit, after all. But, I say… _Penelope_ isn't the one you were searching for, is she? I shall become quite fierce, if anything has befallen our Pee-Dee!"

Linda Casey sighed. She couldn't imagine Clarence becoming fierce over anything but a spilt drink, truthfully.

"No, it's just that your sister was seen with the two missing persons, shortly before their disappearance. As such, she's a material witness, and I'd like to find _her,_ as well."

For just a moment, something steel-like flashed in the mild blue eyes of Lord Clarence Creighton-Ward. Then, easing back into his cushioned seat, and calming the wolf-dog, he said,

"Afraid I can't help you, Colonel. Dear Pee-Dee does, as they say, "her own thing". Perhaps you should try Tracy Island? She's quite thick with that Scott fellow, I believe. Not _seriously,_ of course. One does need to keep to one's class."

Casey stiffened, resisting the urge to order His Lordship tased and arrested on suspicion of harbouring fugitives. Still, you couldn't just haul someone up for being an air-headed, drink-sozzled snob.

As it turned out, she found nothing. A complete, comprehensive search of the grounds turned up no more than the young man, his pet dire wolf, a few horses, his sporty red aircar, and a very slept-in bed. He really _did_ have a hunting permit on file, too; for elk and bison.

"The truth is," he admitted conspiratorially, "Old Fotheringay and I don't shoot much. Mostly just potter about with our guns, picking up the odd dropped antlers, don't you know? Quite as good, in my view, and far less fatiguing."

"I'm sure," snapped the colonel, as her luckless troops began trudging back onto their carriers. "Good after _noon,_ Clarence. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, good show! Please do, Colonel. I should be _most_ charmed to show you about the wood. We might do a bit of angling, if you aren't keen on the hunt."

By this time, Casey's dislike was bordering on the pathological, and she couldn't get away fast enough. His handsome Lordship stood on the stone staircase, waving and calling, as the GDF fleet took to the skies and flew off. Beside him, Scout rumbled ominously.

"Good bye!" shouted Clarence. "Thanks awfully for popping in! Do come again! Any time at all, no need of formalities!"

When the last black dot of a troop carrier had vanished into those low, grey clouds, Clarence gave an elaborate stretch and yawn, then patted Scout's head.

"At ease. There's a good fellow. Why don't we see what we can turn up in the kitchen, eh?" They were still, as far as Clarence was concerned, on show.

The rest of his day therefore consisted in scrounging a meal of ham, eggs and gin, followed by light calisthenics, poetry reading and correspondence. Later, he donned his tweeds and went down to the pond for a bit of practice.

Clarence had brought along an old fowling piece, and he set up a few targets on posts and stumps as he walked his acres; mostly those sniffed at by Scout, who invariably marked them with a long stream of steaming gold piss.

His Lordship seemed to be not much of a marksman; hitting wood and ground as often as he did those orange clay targets. That he was also destroying the tracking and listening devices planted by Casey's men was surely accidental, for Clarence seemed deeply distressed by his own poor aim.

"Blast!" he thundered, after splintering yet another innocent tree trunk. "It's all this bloody drink that's done it, Scout. Swearing off of the stuff tomorrow, I promise you!"

Eventually, the depressed young sprig of nobility returned to the pond. It lay like a steel mirror a few hundred yards from the house; silent, cloud-grey, and dotted with shriveling lily pads. Scout lapped the water, plunging in to his chest, then bounding out for a noisy shake all over His Lordship.

"Wretched animal!" Clarence laughed, trying to duck that shower of icy droplets. "No respect, whatsoever!"

Then, accepting sloppy-wet dog kisses, the nobleman straightened back up, broke and shouldered his shotgun. Casually glancing at the screen of his wrist watch, he turned to the pond and waved, calling,

"All clear!"

Moments later, the water began to hump up and bubble, at mid-pond, just where a shielded hollow doubled its depth. A big, pink Rolls Royce came to the surface, draped in pond weed and mud. Rising on silent impellers, it lifted into the air. Inside the car, Clarence could see Parker, his sister's bodyguard, and three passengers. Four, if one counted Sherbert.

The limousine glided silently over the pond to its tree-shaded eastern bank, where Clarence stood waiting in his tweeds and hunting boots, flask in hand.

"What ho!" he called cheerfully, raising the silver flask in salute. "All well inside, I hope?"

The vehicle's right passenger door opened up, and his sister leaned out, arms extended. Clarence stepped into a warm, tight hug.

"Thank you ever so much, Pester," she whispered, as Bertie squirmed and bounced, attempting to reach Scout.

"Really, now," her brother objected, pulling free. "No call for all that. Just a bit of play-acting, what? Putting those lessons you gave me, to work."

Said Colonel Tracy, reaching past Penny to shake the slim nobleman's hand,

"You may have saved a life, today, Clarence. We're grateful."

Sitting up front, near Parker, was as pretty a young thing as Clarence had recently seen. Looked a bit like his sister, he thought, only not so old and… _related_. Straightening subtly, and shifting the gun to his other shoulder, His Lordship said,

"No trouble at all, Colonel Tracy. Not quite the same dashing sort as our Pee-Dee… but I _do_ get about a bit, experience the occasional hint of excitement."

Might have made a better impression if he hadn't been dog-sodden and partially drunk. The girl gave him a hesitant smile. Like the others, she did not come out of the car. No sense leaving awkward prints, of people or tyres.

"Thank you, Lord Clarence," said the lissome blonde beauty. "I've heard so much about you."

"Lies, every jot and tittle," he laughed. "Pee-Dee does love to stretch a tale. I'm quite a modest and unassuming chap, I assure you."

Penelope shook her head, drawing her younger brother in for a swift kiss on the cheek.

"No one with _that_ altered brute for a pet can consider themselves the shy and retiring sort. Yes, Scout, auntie's speaking of you. Kissers, nevvy… there's a good lad."

For some reason, the normally fastidious lady had no issue at all with giant, wet dogs. Sherbert, barking excitedly, quite evidently wished to burst forth and play, but Penny restrained him.

"No, Bertie, not today, I'm afraid. We've work yet to do, and mustn't be found here. We shall have playtime with Scout, later, Dearest. I promise you."

 _"Do_ be careful, Sis," Clarence urged, stepping away from the hovering car. "The GDF seem quite determined to find you lot."

Penelope snorted.

"Yes, well… fortunately, they are also extremely incompetent. More of a threat to themselves than to us, I'm afraid. Still less so to the Hood, or Chaos Crew."

"Nevertheless, be cautious, and remain alert. I shall stay on for a bit, I think. Fotheringay will no doubt turn up, as I owe him a weekend of shooting, and I might as well play my part to the hilt."

His sister nodded, blew several kisses, and then shut the car door. Scout lunged after the limousine as it glided up and off into the air. Didn't catch it, fortunately, for that gen-mod dire wolf could rip off a tyre, if minded to.

"Down, lad! Down, Scout! Come on, then," said Clarence, turning back to the house. "What about the rest of that ham, and a good book, by the fire?"

The servants had returned from the village, he guessed, seeing a thread of white smoke from the chimney.

"Dear Pee-Dee can look after herself. She's got Bertie along to protect her, after all… _and_ Parker."

So saying, Clarence rubbed the wolf-dog's head, then wandered back up to the house, whistling cheerfully. As for Lady Penelope, already far from the lodge in that fast-rising car, she and her brother had bought them some much-needed time.

Parker glanced at her, using the rearview mirror.

"Just keep the jammin' device in h-operation, shall h-I, Milady?" he asked.

"Indeed, Parker. Let us provide our defence force friends with no further clues as to our whereabouts. So long as we remain in the vehicle, we are quite hidden from detection."

"The question is," Jeff put in, "where to, now?"

"I should like very much to go home," whispered Zara. "My mum is terribly worried, I'm sure."

"And being watched, no doubt," said Penelope. "I am afraid, my dear, that she must remain in suspense a bit longer."

Zara nodded, dashing at her grey eyes with a shaking hand. Gently, Colonel Tracy said,

"Zara, we need to know whatever you can tell us about Chancellor Shaw's plans. Would he attempt to have you killed for what you said to me? And, if not, who did?"

The girl shook her head miserably.

"I don't know, Colonel," she told him, seeming genuinely perplexed. "I… was informed that my services were no longer required, shortly after you left the office. Then, once I'd gone down to the back room for my things… someone took hold and pushed a cloth at my face. I tried to fight them, but was rather easily overcome. I'd been crying, you see, trying to think what to tell mum, and so I wasn't looking out, as I should have been. Then, later, I woke here, in this car, with you, Lady Penelope, and Mister Parker."

Sherbert yipped alertly, causing the girl to hiccup a sudden laugh.

"Yes, and Bertie, as well," she amended, allowing the fat little pug to spring up into her lap and nuzzle her face. "As to the chancellor, Colonel, he has been ordering the construction of specially-shielded cells, below the GDF Tower. Many more than needed for just the Mechanic or the Hood, and surely no _regular_ inmate would require such powerful restraints! I found all this out quite accidentally, when I was attempting to access his schedule, so as to learn who was expected, that day. Sometimes, odd things happen, Colonel Tracy, Milady… I don't know how to explain them."

Jeff nodded, watching the girl bury her face against Sherbert. The chubby pug clearly adored her, and he was a very good judge of character. By this time, Parker had lifted them into the cloudy grey skies between aircar traffic and commercial flight lanes. Now, the driver said,

"H-If you don't mind my askin', Miss, what's your full name? H-I might be able to get word to your mum, quiet-like, through one of me mates, once 'er Ladyship gives the word."

"Oh, _would_ you?!" the girl blurted eagerly, torn between hope and worry. "I'm sure that she'll keep her countenance, and it would mean ever so much! I'm Zara Herringford-Smith, of Stoke Newington. Please, just tell her I'm safe. Only, she _does_ worry so."

Penny caught Jeff's eye, her look very plainly saying: _It's quite well in hand, Colonel. Parker will soon find out all there is to know about our young lady._

Very slightly, Jeff nodded. He had nothing but faith in the driver's sleuthing abilities, in this matter, and that of Chancellor Shaw… if only they could reach a safe place, and let him work. Clarence had bought them a few hours' head start. Now, they had to find a way to make the most of it. He had one day left to reach Scotland, and couldn't just leave these three behind him, at risk.


	20. Chapter 20

Hi, guys. =) Starting to see the end of the story. Thank you for your kindness and patience. I've had fun. Hugs to Tikatu, Bow Echo, Whirl Girl, Thunderbird Shadow and Creative Girl! Edited even more.

 **20**

 _Mars Base, deep in the underground hangar complex-_

On the one hand, infiltration was pitifully simple, when the Typicals depended so much on all their machines. On the other hand, the Mechanic wasn't accustomed to sneaking. What he wanted, he took. Whoever he hated, he killed. As easy as that. But, there was another edge to the blade, now. A new development. He had allies, and… however grudgingly… he wanted to keep them.

This meant that, instead of creating an army of swarming battle drones to destroy the base and the Hood, he had to be subtle. Avoid open conflict. Beech proved helpful, because he could 'see' the path of least sh*t, and muscle whatever they couldn't avoid onto somebody else. So, the toilets backed up and the showers ran cold, all over Mars Base; made no difference to Kane, who stalked onto an open, unwatched freight elevator, riding it half a mile down to the hangar floor.

The Mechanic did not enjoy crowds, and would cheerfully have slaughtered all of the vermin infesting that big, noisy cavern, just to bring peace. Only, that would end the accord he'd forged with the Tracys. For some reason, they cared for the Typicals. Protected them. _Bred_ with them. He just didn't get it. But he didn't start shooting, either.

With the derelict now beyond Mars and headed for Earth, the base had come back to life. Machines were turned on, ships roared in and out of the hangar, and people were everywhere. Their own means of transport was powerful enough to move tons of cargo from hangar to surface and back again. At a pinch, it could handle a pair of closely-packed Interceptors.

A hundred feet to an edge, with a floor of scratched and abraded green metal, heavy tie-down clamps and low, open sides, it was slow, but passenger-free. A key point in its favor, since Kane could not disguise himself, even if he'd bothered to try. There wasn't a spacesuit bulky enough.

Instead, they stole a ride on the rumbling cargo elevator. It crawled along like a very large metal spider, clinging to a heavy steel railway bolted onto the cavern's stone wall. Cameras were no concern; the Mechanic easily dealt with those. As for human observers, circumstance was nudged in such a way that the workers were always busy, completely distracted, or suddenly yawning, just when the massive, clattering lift crossed through another pool of floodlighting.

Kane and Beech had dropped aboard from a ceiling spar, landing in the shadow of a massive, plastic-wrapped crate. The mechanic could feel what was inside of there; machinery called to him, always. Service bots, brought here to clean and maintain Martian spacecraft. Just his near presence alerted the robots, bringing them nearly to life. If, decades later, there was a machine revolt on Mars, it dated to _that_ moment, that waking, right there.

Beech crouched in the shadows, tense as a rodent crossing a multi-lane highway. Kane just leaned against the big, yellow crate, arms folded across his muscular chest.

"Why," he wondered aloud, "are there so many more of _them_ , than of us? We're stronger. We have powers they can't match. Why are they winning?"

The chaos-adept shifted position to look at him; pale as a wraith in the crate's changing shadow.

"There were always more of them, I think. They breed faster than we do… plus, they have a lot of technologies, including some to let them control us."

The Mechanic grunted. Having been collared, himself, he could not deny that it worked.

"Right now," he speculated, "I could open every hatch and airlock on this base. Send their atmosphere screaming away, faster than they could put on a spacesuit. I could summon the rest of our kind and build a new stronghold, on Mars."

Cody stood up. As the giant lift clanked its way slowly downward, the crate's dense black shadow slid, grew and shrank, over and over. Multiplied, too, when they crossed the beams of more than one floodlight.

"I like Earth," Cody objected. "Life here would be nothing but struggle, Kane. Besides… the Typicals would launch an attack fleet to wipe us all out. _Now,_ they only halfway recall our existence. Do what you've threatened to, and they'll _know_. They'll react in kind."

"They created us," growled Kane, amber eyes narrow and hard. "They have a 'God'. We have _that_ ," and he jerked his thumb at the sweating, cursing, hurrying vermin, below.

Mouth quirking humourously, Beech said,

"So, maybe their 'God' is our grandparent, and we have a right to petition; just like another accord."

The Mechanic snorted rudely.

"You think too much. Slows you down. I'd rather just shoot out the lights, then order my drones to attack. Get faster results, that way."

Cody raked a slim hand through his icy-pale hair. Almost, they'd reached the hangar floor. Glancing sideways at Kane, he said,

"You know why there are no more large predators left on Earth, right? Not the gen-mod copies, I mean. The real thing. Lions, grizzly bears. Like that."

The cyborg said nothing, so Beech went on with his thought.

"They were too dangerous, Kane. They got in the way. So, they were exterminated; every last one." Nodding out at the busy Typicals, Cody said, "Get enough of _their_ kind together, and even the strongest of us gets put down."

Kane straightened, the noise of his motion lost in the general clatter and buzz that surrounded them.

"Only if they find us alone," he rumbled. There was power in alliance; maybe, power enough to be free of the vermin, forever.

About twenty feet from the hangar floor, the cyborg motioned to Beech. Together, they vaulted off the elevator and onto a metal catwalk. Too many workers, below.

"I've got the sensors," the Mechanic told his companion. "You keep the d*mn roaches distracted. Want to save lives? Keep them the h*ll out of my way."

Cody hesitated, then nodded. Cautiously, he followed the cyborg across the cavern floor. They kept to the sides and the shadows, mostly, moving always in the direction of Thunderbird 3. The giant rocket stood tall and erect in the distance, red as the ghost of a dying star. Inside it, locked in time, lay the Hood.

Took them about twenty-five minutes to cross the vast hangar, but they did it without attracting attention. At first, anyhow. Several maintenance bots came zipping up for a look, but were redirected with a gesture from Kane; back on the job, with a little something extra worked into their programming. Call it a time bomb.

For the Mechanic, communication and contact were everywhere. Each active machine and device touched his mind and pinged for attention, at once. Even Thunderbird 3 sensed his presence. It was an ocean of wi-fi chatter, generating more than usual receptivity. Maybe that's why Kane detected the problem.

"What is it?" Beech asked him, when the cyborg abruptly stopped walking. "Kane, what's happened?"

They'd stopped at the wall-side of a huge, green shipping container. _Proxima Centauri_ , it's labels declared. Several humans stood talking at the other end, one of them a captain. The Mechanic seemed not to notice, having frozen in mid-prowl. Very quietly, the cyborg replied,

"I've been hacked. There's something here that doesn't belong in my systems. Not a virus… some kind of intelligence."

"Can I help?" asked Cody, coming nearer.

"No. Get to the rocket, and wait thirty minutes. If I don't join you, return to the Cruiser and go back to Earth. Warn your family... tell _all_ of them about the impactor. _Move."_

"But…"

 _"Now,_ Beech." It came out as a guttural snarl, rasped by someone already frozen in combat

Cody nodded, feeling suddenly very alone. Reaching out with senses that had no human equivalent, he bent, twisted and yanked at the stuff of probability. Caused a giant crane to break down, nearly dropping its load on the workers below. Steel cables snapped with a sharp, hissing twang. Then, the massive pallet tilted, beginning to swing like a pendulum. As that mountain of packing crates twisted and spun, dangling by its last, fraying cable, humans cried out and ran to assist. Beech regretted their danger, but he'd needed a major distraction. So he crouched low, and then darted for Thunderbird 3, dodging cameras the entire way.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _The Admiral's conference room, several levels away-_

So, yeah… people in charge, doing their thing. A lot. Alan Tracy didn't much like meetings, pre-flights or debriefs. Never had. Found out that conferences with the Big Brass weren't a lot better. See, unlike his three oldest brothers, Al didn't have any childhood memories of "Uncle Pete", and didn't have much to add to the conversation. So, instead, as Scott, John, Virgil and the base commander talked strategy, Al wandered over to Gordon.

His brother was seated at the other end of that long black conference table, teaching Charlie to dunk chicken nuggets and french-fries in ketchup. The small boy was fascinated, having apparently never tried 'kid food'.

"Okay, so… everybody's got their own method, Buddy," Gordon explained, holding a crisp, golden nugget up for inspection, "but _I_ like to put ketchup on the plate first, like _this…"_ (Here, he squeezed a puddle of oozy red paste onto the dura-plast plate.) "Then, artistically, I swipe the nugget, like so. Aaaannd… bite. Ohm-nom-nom. See?" (That last bit came out sort of thickly, because he'd had food in his mouth.)

"Heh!" chortled Alan, leaning in to snag and dunk a french-fry. "He's an ohm-nom-nomnivore!"

"Dude! Back off!" Gordon snapped, batting Alan's octopus hands away from the food. "Get your own!"

"Bro," said Alan, pulling a chair over to sit down and join them. "Fries are communal property, and I'm hungry, too."

Charlie was wearing a bright-red "100% Martian" souvenir tee-shirt and overlarge khaki shorts, kicking his legs as he got used to gravity, and sitting in chairs. Looking shyly at Alan, he said,

"You wanna learn food with us? You gotta say 'thank you', first. This is chicken nidget. It goes in cashup. Like this. See? You want some, too? You could try. I let you."

Alan grinned at the boy, and accepted a hesitantly offered nugget.

"Thanks, Dudely. That's it. We're besties, now. You feed Alan, you've _got_ Alan."

"Getting rid of him 's the hard part," Gordon confided, leaning closer to Charlie. The little boy frowned.

"That's not a _Alan,"_ he protested. "That's _other-_ other brother! See, Gordon, look… you gots brother, other brother, _other-_ other brother, and…" (turning to indicate John) "Nother-brother!" Here, the kid collapsed in a fit of laughter, then checked himself with a gasp, as if unsure that it was okay to make jokes. But Gordon and the food-brother were laughing, too. So… so he was okay? Not in trouble?

"Gotta admit," said Gordon, scooping him up to be held for a minute. "It's easy to remember. Now, enough talking, Big Guy. Finish your food. There's apple sauce, and a juice box, and if you let Other-other distract you, he'll steal it all."

… to which Charlie reacted by seizing chicken and french-fries in both hands (but leaving a little for Alan). Together, they cleaned up the plate, until even the ketchup was gone.

Meanwhile, at the conference room's business end, the base commander and Scott had narrowed their choices down to just two.

"As I see it, Sir," said the earnest young pilot, "we could put some giant engines on that alien ship, together with a remote-guidance device, and then fly it right into the Sun."

"Without waking the d*mn thing up?" Pete asked, openly skeptical. He was living on coffee and adrenaline, now… plus John's promise that Helen and Steph would be saved.

"Not only that," cut in Virgil, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the black table. "But how do we know that a trip to the Sun 'll finish that monster? If it really _is_ from another universe, then…"

"Plunging into a G-type star might be no worse than taking a warm shower," John finished, frowning down at the patterns he was tracing on their interactive tabletop.

The conference room was an odd combination of lava tube cavern and high-tech command centre. Chancellor Shaw looked on from one holo-screen. The other three, which should have held 3-D figures of Colonel Casey, Brains and Dad, were blank.

John had been crunching numbers, of course. It's what he did, when needing to think. Wanted to mention his idea for using increased mass to rip space and eject the impactor… but something prevented him. Might've been Eos' non-stop shoulder squeeze, or the faint, spinning red circle on his wrist comm screen (meaning that Jaeger was occupied, elsewhere). Maybe he just didn't like talking in front of the Chancellor, who watched them all with shark-like intensity.

Neither he, nor his brothers mentioned young Charlie, who might have been able to time-lock the derelict or fast-age it, if boosted, somehow. After all, the boy had stopped that signal, and released Alan. Would do the same for that frozen Interceptor pilot, once they got the guy back here. Just… maybe Shaw oughtn't to know these things?

"How about this," suggested McCord, taking a different tack. "Earth and Mars build the biggest Goddam weapon ever created, and we blow the f*cker to kingdom come."

"I don't know, Sir," Scott hedged. "Unless you were one-hundred-percent sure you got every grain of that nanite dust, it could come right back."

"Yeah," added Virgil, brown eyes full of worrisome memory. "The nanites could lay low someplace… like an asteroid, or one of the moons, and just replicate, until somebody lands and gives them a free ride to Earth. With all due respect, Admiral, we've seen this stuff in action. You _don't_ want it out of that ship."

Pete rubbed at the back of his own neck with one hand.

"Right," he snapped. "So, where's plan C? I need options, people. You shoot one strategy down, you d*mn well better have three in reserve. That's how we do things on Mars. Talk to me."

John hesitated. Almost, he said something. Then, the alarms went off, shrill and wild as a flock of harpies.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _High in the sky, over the big, northern island that now ran the world-_

It was Lady Penelope who came up with the plan. As they traveled northward, swooping past tall Scafell Pike, her blue eyes had suddenly widened. Sitting erect, she thrust Bertie at Zara, and then began to explain; all in a tumbling rush.

"We must go to the Reservation, Colonel! Quite clearly, those poor unfortunates allergic to electromagnetic fields must have _some_ sort of permanent jamming in place!" An excellent, lightning-strike notion, and exactly what they'd been looking for.

There were a growing number of 'Luddites' on Earth, who couldn't abide being pierced by microwave radiation. Even radio waves and electric powerlines set them off. For these unhappy few, WorldGov had set up a refuge. Located deep in the wild northwest, it lay in an out-of-the-way valley labeled simply "Reservation".

"You see," she told him, smiling with sudden, happy relief, _"Any_ transmission device must have a tower or satellite through which to pass on its signal. As those wretched souls cannot tolerate the presence of EM radiation, other than daylight, they must dwell in a shielded enclave, far from _any_ transmitter."

Jeff thumped his armrest with a clenched fist, grinning from ear to ear.

"Lady P, you're a genius!" he laughed, sweeping her into a quick, rough hug. "All we have to do is sneak in at night and hide FAB-1. Then, you three can carry on from the Reservation, while I head for Scotland. How far is the valley?"

Nobody answered. They were too busy watching something that looked like a faint, shimmering ripple. Like a moiré interference pattern in midair, the disturbance was pacing them.

"Milady…" said Parker, banking to starboard. Their pursuer decloaked before the driver could finish his sentence, revealing a sleek, bat-shaped dark plane. Someone waved from inside the canopy. Tanusha, looking relieved, and a little concerned.

Zara's grey eyes had gone bright, wonder-wide. She gasped, but Jeff said,

"Relax, Zara. It's Thunderbird Shadow. Not sure how she found us, but my daughter's a friend. She's here to help."

"I know, Colonel," the girl whispered, hugging Sherbert. "Just… it's so much _more_ in real life. Grander than any image can show."

Jeff nodded. Very much, he wanted to trust this beautiful girl. Wanted to help keep her safe. Get her home. And now, thanks to Kayo, he might just succeed.

Turning back to the passenger window, he waved. Watched intently as Kay used signs to mime slowing down, opening car door and canopy, and then Jeff, coming over to Thunderbird Shadow. No transmissions, because they were trying to hide.

The colonel's bushy grey eyebrows shot up into his hairline, as he signed back: ' _How?'_ Unless he was meant to wing-walk at two-thousand feet…

Even through two layers of glass and misty cloud cover, Jeff recognized Tanusha's _'Really_ _, Dad?'_ look. Only just, she didn't roll her green eyes. _'Not that hard',_ she signed back.

"Just rig up a tether with seat-belting, shall we?" Penny suggested.

"That'd be great," he admitted, with a rueful smile and brief headshake. "Might want to slow down, some, Parker. I'm not the young dumbass I used to be."

Parker's blue eyes crinkled with laugh lines in the back-view mirror.

"Neither h-am I, Mister Tracy," he commiserated. "H-Age and wisdom ambushes us all in th' h-end, Sir."

"If youth and stupid don't get us, first," said Jeff, grinning fiercely. Then, the colonel made ready to go.


	21. Chapter 21

Hi, guys. =) Thank you for all of your kind and insightful reviews. Please forgive my delayed response. I've been living in interesting times, again. Edited.

 **21**

 _Mars Base, within the frenzied hangar and freight complex-_

Kane stood at the back of a massive cargo container, fighting for more than his life. Being a cyborg, he was part machine and part meat, with circuitry that lanced from metal components, all through his flesh and his nervous system. A human doctor would have had fits, trying to figure that mishmash out. An electrician would have given up in disgust. Nothing about the Mechanic was completely organic, and hadn't been, since his implantation at three years of age.

All of this created some very strange problems. For one thing, he required more power input than a human could get by just eating. For another, he was somewhat vulnerable to cyber-attack.

Stupid! Too distracted. Had thought himself 'safe'. Something more than a virus had worked its way into his systems, Kane noticed, and now it was trying to take control. The Mechanic fought back; running self-check/ isolate/ defrag. If he could keep it out of his command core, the cyborg figured, he had a slim chance to stay free.

Like crimson fire, the intruder seemed to burn through the Mechanic's components and circuitry. His flesh grew feverishly hot, then began to blister and fry at the joinings. His cybernetic parts sparked and flared, but Kane refused to back down or stop fighting. He might be killed, but he d*mn well wouldn't surrender.

His own internal defenses were powerful to begin with, but the Mars Online system sent aid, as well, in the form of weapons-grade antiviral programs. Small machines and his bladed drone crowded close, draining their charge to boost his. They seemed to waver and sway in his blurring vision, reaching forward with hooks, pincers and probes to support their embattled lord.

Kane fought on, pushing that scarlet invader backward through every nerve cell; out of each node and short-circuiting component.

 _"Get_ _out_ _,_ " he rasped hoarsely, burning to death from within, rather than submit. "All… you're going to win… is a pile of… rare steak and fried wires."

He saw something, then. A bright red, vertical line, hanging in the air before him. It shimmered and twanged like a plucked string, saying something he did not understand. Words, but meaningless to one who spoke only Basic. A deadly-powerful A.I. that his systems identified as pre-conflict, and extremely dangerous. The Martian anti-viral programs attacked it like a blizzard of swirling blue pixels. Then, the glittering line seemed to vacuum them up and vanish from sight, like someone had called it away.

Kane didn't fall. Wouldn't allow himself to. Did half-collapse for support on the damp cavern wall. One arm was braced against cold stone, the other locked like a flesh-and-steel pillar, hand on his left knee, right leg splayed backward. He was dripping sweat, sparking and charred, but free.

A battery cart had trundled up, extending its recharge limbs. Also, a motorized snack trolley. The Mechanic accepted both, and some water, as well, giving himself nearly five minutes of solid recovery time. Just pain, that's all it was… nothing he couldn't handle.

Alarms shrieked and howled in the huge, crowded hangar. Typicals were running and shouting, scurrying to get their freight ships clear of a broken gantry crane and its free-swinging load. All the distraction he needed, courtesy of Beech.

The injured cyborg got himself moving, ignoring the pain of his burns. Carts, drones and machines formed screens for him, as he wove his way among GDF gunships and parked cruisers. Cargo containers stretched themselves, eliminating gaps through which any guards might see him. In this way, helped along by everything metal on Mars, the Mechanic made it to Thunderbird 3.

The rocket stood upright on its triple engine nacelles, surrounded by blast shields and caution tape. He might have collapsed there, had Beech not yanked him into a concrete-walled bunker.

"You made it!" the younger man exulted, swinging him into the deepest, best-insulated part of that _'Oh, sh*t'_ blast shelter. Then, "Kane, are you sure you're up to this? You don't look too good, and the Hood…"

Shoving clear of Beech and that concrete wall, Kane straightened to full, clanking height. The drone on his right shoulder chittered and buzzed, flexing blades enough for a butcher's shop.

"The Hood owes me blood and screams, Beech. I'm going to kill him. He's going to know who did it, and why. Try to stop me, and I'll go through you." Not a threat. A guarantee.

Cody Beech took a half-step backward, then stopped. The cyborg was scorched and swaying, but fiercely determined. Obviously, he'd survived the cyber-attack. Still wanted revenge, too; with all the single-minded bloodlust of a stalking lion.

"I can't stop you," said Cody. "But I _can_ give you something to think about, Kane. The Hood's a rogue Kyrano, but if you kill him, you may provoke war. Not sure this is the time for that. You could… maybe wait for a while? He's time-locked. Not going anywhere but a GDF prison, which might as well be a cardboard box, to you. Just saying… you could petition the Kyrano for right-of-combat, and do things legally."

"I don't petition," growled Kane, in the bunkered shadow of Thunderbird 3.

"Fine. I'll do it _for_ you. The Kyrano's an arrogant arse, I've heard, but he probably wants the Hood dead as much as you do. Give it a chance, Kane. We deal with this alien ship, then you give me a week…"

"Three days."

"…give me three days, and then you can tear him to shreds the _right_ way, in front of the council, with everyone watching."

After a moment, the Mechanic gave Beech a slight, sullen nod.

"I'll try things your way," he said. "But if anything goes wrong, Beech, I finish him."

"Deal," said the chaos-adept, already hard at work weaving entropy.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Earlier, leaving the Admiral's conference room-_

Scott Tracy bolted up out of his seat, the motion too great for such a low-gravity world. He left the floor, entirely, soaring about five feet before hitting the ground again. Alarms and flashing lights split the thin, slightly sour air. On the cavern wall across from the holo screens, an interactive map showed the trouble spot in bright, blinking red.

"That's the hangar," snapped McCord, reaching for his comm. Then, half turning to face the Chancellor's blue-glowing image, "I'm sorry, Sir. We'll have to reschedule. McCord, _out."_

Shaw's scowling holo vanished like a doused candle, subtly improving the meeting room's atmosphere. Said Scott, as the grim, red-haired officer turned back around,

"We can go down there and help, Sir."

Virgil and John were already moving; Gordon and Alan just getting up.

"Do it," said Pete. "Find Captain Hesse, and follow her lead. I'll coordinate from Cent Com."

Scott nodded, saying,

"Yessir. We're on it," as he turned to sprint for the hangar. At the back of his mind was: _The Hood's escaped, and he's stealing Thunderbird 3._

Meanwhile, Alan was halfway out the door, with Gordon close behind him. The swimmer would have been first, except that, as he got up to go, Charlie had reached for his hand.

"Me, too," said the boy, looking up at his friend and protector. "I could help, too, right, Gordon? Right, I could help?"

The aquanaut might've brushed him off, except that Charlie's pleading brown eyes were shadowed by genuine fear. Understandable, he figured, when absolutely everything was new, and people were trying to hunt down and kill you.

"Okay, you're in. Super-quiet, though," Gordon cautioned, swinging Charlie onto his back like a spare oxygen tank. "Stay alert, Kiddo. We don't know what's down there."

He could feel the boy nod against the back of his head. Got a sudden tight, grateful hug, too.

"Hang on, Big Guy. I'm not used to running on Mars. Might hit the ceiling, or something. You watch for trouble, up top, I'll get us to the danger zone."

Another nod.

"I got you," the boy said, repeating the best thing he'd heard in his short, hunted life. "I'm here."

And then, they were off, out of the conference room and down through that maze of passageways; consulting wall maps at every second turn. Caught up with Alan just before reaching the noisy, stirred-anthill hangar complex.

It was an enormous, gated and force-shielded cavern; bigger on the ground than it had seemed from above. Gordon and Alan soon spotted the problem. A giant steel gantry crane had lost control of its load, which now hurtled and swung like a wrecking ball. Worse, some of the nearby spaceships were fuel tankers. If struck, they could go up like a bomb, taking half of the base along with them.

Gunships, shuttles and cargo-lifters were backing away, or trying to reach the force-shielded launch bay; a giant cave mouth that opened out through a hillside, onto the dusty-red surface of Mars.

The boys started forward, but were soon flagged down by Captain Hesse. In her open helmet and green spacesuit, she looked tense, but every inch in command.

"Gordon, Alan! Need you on traffic control," she barked, over wailing sirens and engine roar. "Get as many of these spacecraft out of the hangar as possible, priority to the tankers. We need room."

"Yes, Ma'am," Gordon responded, starting to turn. Then, the captain saw Charlie.

"What's the kid doing here?" she demanded. "This is a d*mn worksite! It's dangerous!"

"He's part of the team, Captain," soothed Alan, coming over to stand beside Gordon. "Plus, there's no place else safe we can put him. He'll be fine, Captain, promise. We rescue kids every day."

Hesse shook her head disbelievingly.

"Don't have time for this," she muttered, adding, "You two, clear the hangar. _You,_ don't wander off and get killed."

And then, she was gone, racing away to find Scott with that peculiar, low-gravity lope you soon developed on Mars. Relieved, Gordon turned to his brother.

"You back them on over, Al. Charlie and me 'll quick-speed them out of here."

His golden-blond sibling grinned at him; first punching his shoulder, then reaching over to muss Charlie's longish brown hair.

"Sounds like a plan, G-man." Nudging the boy, he added, "Keep Gordon outta trouble, Chip. Unlike me, he needs a whole lot of supervision!"

Meanwhile, further inside, the massive yellow gantry crane was in serious trouble. How so much had gone wrong so _quickly,_ Scott had no idea. He got filled in fast, though.

"Its systems are down," John told him, scowling at an Eos-formed data screen. "Not hacked, or anything. Just completely offline."

"Can you get it back up again?" Scott asked, narrowly eyeing that pallet of swinging crates. At least, it wasn't the Hood.

"Yeah. Two minutes, max," the astronaut replied. Cracked the Martian Secure-Net in less than thirty seconds.

Meanwhile, Virgil had gone to fetch his exo-suit out of Thunderbird 3. Got a surprise inside, though. He'd raced up to the lower hatch, repeatedly jabbing at his fritzing wrist comm and sash-unit. No ladder descended, at first. Then a tide of service bots rolled up, squealing and beeping like mechanized mice. There were hundreds of them. Enough to link together, forming a staircase up to Thunderbird 3's suddenly open aft-hatch. Virgil's brown eyes widened, but he didn't question his luck, just blamed it on John, and grunted,

"Thanks, guys."

The big, handsome pilot surged up that robotic staircase, taking the "steps" three at a time in his hurry. Inside the cargo-access lock… well, his green metal exo-suit was standing there, waiting, along with Kane and that other guy, Beech.

"Wait… what're you doing here?" Virgil demanded, as he stepped backward into his open and welcoming exo-suit.

"Safeguarding a future corpse," growled the Mechanic, looking battered and fried.

"Future?" Virgil probed, feeling the exoskeleton close tightly around him, then link to cyber-contact pads on his suit. "As in, _you're_ here, and the Hood's not dead?"

"He's alive," Kane admitted, sounding like an earthquake with a hangover.

By this time, the exo-suit had sealed up and was ready to go, increasing Virgil's strength from merely immense, to titanic.

"Please tell me you didn't cause all that?" Virgil asked, jerking a thumb at the swaying crane and its spinning, off-center load. The Mechanic shook his tattooed head.

"No. I didn't screw with the loading crane, Tracy. If I _had,_ there would be Typicals smashed like worms on a sidewalk."

Nice. Never occurred to the young pilot to ask Cody Beech the same question. Kid looked like a grad student, not a villain, and Virgil was in a hurry.

"Okay," said the pilot. "Stay out of sight, and make sure the Hood's under control. I'm out."

"Wait," the Mechanic ordered. "Did one of you detect my presence here, and launch a cyber-attack?"

Virgil held up the hand with the glitching wrist comm and shook his gelled head.

"Electronics are a total bust right now, Kane. Maybe John's got something, but all he's doing is getting that crane back online. It wasn't us."

The Mechanic studied him for a moment, amber eyes narrow and bleak. Then, he stood down, accepting the med-kit and power packs that Virgil Tracy tossed at him.

"Aspirin. Water. And, for the love of mike, sit _down._ Beech, he's all yours. I gotta go."

So saying, Virgil Tracy bounded back out of Thunderbird 3. With exo-suit enhancement and Mars' one-quarter gravity, he didn't need stairs. Just leapt from cargo hatch to hangar floor, landing with a thud and a ringing clatter. Then, the big pilot hauled ass for that giant gantry crane.

Installed to shift cargo from freighter to dock, it was extremely tall and powerful, with a long, steel-alloy boom, heavy cables and a huge, claw-like "spreader" for grabbing pallets and cargo. Mounted on rails, it could roll the length of the cavern… when not disabled by tech crap and utter disaster.

Virgil could see at a glance that the lifting cable was nearly frayed through, and that the crane's operator couldn't raise or lower that wildly swaying load. He could also spot four or five quick-fixes and workarounds. Just had to climb up there.

"Virge, get that cable repaired!" Scott shouted, igniting his jetpack. John was still at work on the computer system. Barely looked up as his exopod swooped in to close around him, just shifting position to let it lock onto his arms, torso and legs with a series of sharp, snapping-turtle clicks.

Continued Scott,

"I'll get started on the load. John, hurry up and find a way to brace that boom. It's about to give way."

The astronaut nodded, red-golden hair flopping into his eyes.

"System's online," he announced, as red sparking lights zipped like St. Elmo's fire all through the cavern and crane. "It's compiling."

 _Like a dance,_ thought Virgil, clambering up the crane's heavy support boom. Scott had jetted out to the pallet, seizing hold at full burn, to help stabilize its wild swing. John had launched himself into the air, was already up at the sagging cargo boom. A swarm of Mini-Maxes poured like hissing smoke out of Thunderbird 3. They joined the astronaut, who used them, and some sort of flaring red laser, to straighten the groaning, crumpling boom.

Virgil swung hand over hand like an athletic gorilla, waving at the cab operator as he went past. She smiled and waved back. Pretty enough to wink at, but nothing else, because he was already spoken for.

At the boom-end, he seized hold of a frayed cable and abseiled on down, humming one of the new "Strength and Union" arias, by Resnick.

"Max!" he shouted, dangling from the cable's snapped end; hangar spinning and bucking around him like a carnival ride. "Get me the rest of this cable!"

One of the flitting Minis beeped and shot over, zipping down to take hold of the cable-strand's heavy, torn, other end. He wasn't strong enough to lift it, alone. Would have faltered, had a score of small delivery drones not raced up to assist. Working together, that robotic horde was able to raise the cable-end to Virgil, who took hold of both sides like a mighty, humanoid chain-link.

"Okay," he grunted, hauling upward with much more than organic strength. "Mr. Fix-it to the… _urf…_ rescue!"

Got the ends together, then worked his shoulder laser around and fired a short, intense blast, making a rapid, tight weld. Some of those service drones flew over to join him, clamping to both ends, all the way 'round. _Kane._ Had to be.

Virgil got two more strands of the cable repaired, that way; feeling the joy of everything going just right. Working shoulder to shoulder with Scott, John, Max and… yeah. The Mechanic.

At last, the crane operator was able to lower her stabilized load. Scott rode it down to the floor as the hangar crew and Captain Hesse hooted and cheered. Virgil hitched a ride on the spreader; ragged-ass tired, but happy. Sometimes, see, it was the little things, the basic rescues, that made your whole day.

Of course, that was _before_ they found out that the Hood had gone missing.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _FAB-1,_ _near midnight, over Lake District National Park, former U.K.-_

The car door was already open, dank, freezing winds blowing inside, Sherbert yapping his fool lungs out. Every seat restraint, plus Jeff's belt and Parker's, had been linked together to make a harness and tether, of sorts.

Had he been the hero of some romantic adventure tale, Jeff would have belted a stiff drink, kissed a pretty girl, then said something witty, and jumped. Instead, he got a peck on his unshaven cheek from Penny, who murmured,

"Luck, Colonel,"

…as he edged his way out of the hovering car. Clinging to the door frame with one hand and his makeshift tether with the other, Jeff put away thoughts of the wooded mountains and bottomless lakes, far below. Thunderbird shadow was just five or ten feet beneath them, barely visible through streaming, sodden-wool clouds. Engine noise and keening wind made it tough to be heard, but Jeff said,

"Guess you can't take the dumbass out of the Tracy, after all," and then stepped out into wet, empty space. Their tightly-knotted tether twisted and creaked, edges curling in, as it strained to bear his weight. Didn't break, or give way, though. Penny and Zara had done good work.

Easing himself downward in short bursts, Jeff forced himself not to kick or flail, not wanting to knock Tanusha unconscious. It felt like a long seven heartbeats before his booted feet finally touched something solid.

No… not solid. Had some give to it… toggled, sort of.

"Easy, Dad," shouted his daughter, hands up to clasp at his knees. "That's the pilot seat head-rest you're dancing on. Hang on, moving you back, some."

 _Some?_ He swung like pendulum, hip cracking against Thunderbird Shadow's raised canopy. That was going to leave a mark.

 _"Oof…_ Need a jetpack, like Scott… or a better retirement plan."

There followed a bit of a scramble, as he half lowered, half dropped himself into the plane's rear seat; heart racing, breath coming rapid and tasting metallic. But his daughter just laughed.

"Retirement?" she scoffed. "Tracys don't retire, Dad. Not till the world grows up and stops needing us."

Well, there was something to be said for permanent job security. Kayo helped get him into the plane and turned 'round the right way; his scrabbling feet first skimming the seat, and then down on the metal deck. She kissed his rough cheek, then, saying,

"Get that harness off, and have them haul it back up, then sit down, so I can close the canopy, Dad. And… welcome aboard."

"Right," he grunted, reaching around to unbuckle the belt, which swung loose in midair till he gave it three rapid tugs in succession. Looking up, Jeff could barely make out FAB-1, just a darker smudge in the roiling clouds. The tether swung for a moment, and then was drawn silently, invisibly upward.

"Thank you, Penelope," he said to the night and the sky, as that smudge pulled away and banked off. They would head for the Reservation, next. A short trip, as it lay nestled among the wooded valleys, hidden by clouds down below.

Tanusha placed both slim hands on his shoulders and pressed gently downward.

"Sit, Dad," she advised him. "We've got to get moving, and back into stealth mode."

"Have we been spotted?" he asked, sliding into the rear seat.

"I hope not, but if we're quick enough, it won't matter. We can lose them in two saucy shakes, I promise you. Brains took my place on Thunderbird 5, and nobody knows that I'm out here. Not even Grandma."

She was back in her own seat by this time, and at the controls, moving with the fluid grace of a panther. A swift button-press resealed the canopy, shutting out wind, noise and cold. Then, as his daughter switched from hover to flight, and back into stealth mode, she asked,

"Okay, Dad… what's going on? Why's the Chancellor trying to strong-arm you into doing everything _his_ way? What has he got on you?"

Jeff kept busy strapping in, then looked around at the cloudy night for a bit. At last, clearing his throat, he said,

"We're headed north, TinTin. Towards Edinburgh. As for Shaw… it's a long story, Princess."

She half-turned to look at him; green eyes concerned and suspicious.

"I've got all the time in the world for long stories, Dad. Hit me. Whatever it is, I can take it."

Question was, how much truth did he owe his children? How much shelter from worry, pain and _difference_?


	22. Chapter 22

Hi, again. =) Me, with more. Thanks, Thunderbird Shadow, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Creative Girl and Whirl Girl, and "hi, there," KensiBlye! Edited yet more.

 **22**

 _Thunderbird Shadow, high in the air over the Midlands, former U.K.-_

It had started to rain; the droplets spattering Shadow's sleek canopy, then sliding backward in narrow, speed-shriveled lines. Jeff watched them a while, sensing his daughter's impatience, but hesitant, still.

Heavy clouds swept past them in banners of grey, streaming mist. Kayo's red, low-light instrument panel was reflected back from the canopy, making it seem that ghostly planes and pilots were just outside, on both flanks. No help, there.

"Tanusha," said the Colonel, after clearing his throat, "how much do you remember about your other family?"

"You mean, the Hood?" she snapped, spitting her uncle's false name like it tasted bad. "More than I want to. He's not my family, Dad. _You_ are."

Jeff smiled, the expression lost in that beeping, humming darkness, but perfectly clear in his voice.

"You're my daughter, Princess. You have been since Lee and I answered Kyrano's distress call, and came to rescue you… but, there's more to your background than that. I… You'll have to forgive me, Tanusha. When you keep something quiet, this long… it's hard to open up. Hard to know where to begin."

Kayo had started breathing hard. Very slightly, she shook her head, no.

"If you try to tell me that the Hood is really my _father_ …"

"No," Jeff cut her off, reaching forward to place a firm hand on the girl's rigid shoulder. "He's a usurper, who had both of your parents killed. None of that changes who you are _now._ You're Tanusha Kyrano-Tracy, my beautiful girl. You have a grandma and five brothers who love you with all they've got, just like me. Nothing I'm going to tell you could ever threaten that, Princess."

He could see her face, dimly reflected on the inside of the Bird's perma-glass canopy. Saw and heard a gloved hand reach up to dash at her vivid green eyes.

"I love you, too, Daddy," she told him, her voice a low, ragged whisper; barely detectable over the muted noise of engines, rain and night-wind. "I don't remember much, before you broke into that hole and pulled me out. My mother tried to protect me. I don't remember her face, very well, but I think she was beautiful."

Jeff nodded.

"She was," he said. "Kyrano was a very lucky man. He was also _the_ Kyrano, head of his family, until the Hood had him murdered, along with your mom. Lee and I got there too late to prevent their deaths… but we did save _you,_ Princess, and I'm grateful to Heaven for that. You were just a shivering wisp of a girl. Didn't know how to smile or hug… but you were alive. That much, at least, I could do for my friend, Kyrano. I could raise his child."

"What…" Kayo began, her voice thick and scratchy with unshed tears. "What does this have to do with Chancellor Shaw? Is he using my connection to the Hood as blackmail, Dad? Is that it?" Because she would jump from that streaking dark Bird, rather than harm her adopted family.

"No, TinTin, it isn't that," he assured her, once again reaching forward to give her slim shoulder a pat. "It's more complicated, and goes back much further in time, to before the last conflict."

"I'm not _that_ old," she snipped, "and neither are you. Grandma, maybe."

Jeff snorted.

"Don't let Ma hear you say that," he chuckled. Then, growing serious, again, "I'll tell you what Pa told me, Princess. It's not a pretty story, and I don't know much beyond what I got told, but… Back before the last conflict, when every nation was poised on the brink of war, with Richter aiming for world domination, and the United States, France, Persia and England at odds with Russia and China… there were some terrible weapons developed. Out of that time came super-flu, cyborg technology, gen-mod attack dogs, earthquake triggers, weather control and, um… and the so-called "Special Soldier" program."

Here, Jeff paused, hearing the rest of the story in his father's rumbling bass voice; delivered as they'd stood there smoking, leaning against a split-rail fence, the night before he'd left to join the Space Corps.

"They had the technology to take service members with "promising" traits, harvest cells and alter their genetics. They made weapons. Living, powerful, used-to-be-human battle equipment. Only… their creations rebelled. Didn't want to fight their handlers' battles. Especially not against their own abused kind. And that's where the picture gets fuzzy…"

Jeff paused, as Grant Tracy had, that long-ago night.

"There were many cell-lines and Specials developed. Not just in the States. But… other than the Kyranos and Kanes, all I know much about is _us._ The Tracys."

Kayo had half turned in her seat to stare at him, green eyes gone very wide and rejecting.

"That's just legend, Dad. Horror and action movie stuff. You can't really mean that _we're…_ I mean..."

"We're descended from that program, Princess. Your old family, and your new one, both. The original Tracy, the one they cultured from some hot-shot fighter pilot… didn't do like all the rest. He didn't go ape-shi… Pardon me, Tanusha. He didn't go nuts and kill all his handlers. Just found a way to escape from his cell at McConnell Air Force Base in Kansas, leaving only concussions and half-choked guards in his wake. He wouldn't have got very far, but a young lady in a red pickup truck spotted him walking by the side of the road, and pulled over. Must've been a good-looking cuss. Runs in the family."

Kayo managed the ghost of a smile for his joke, but clearly was not in the mood for humour. Not in the face of all _this_. Clearing his throat, again, Jeff pressed on.

"Anyhow, she gave him a lift and provided shelter, just before the last conflict erupted. Her name was Jessie Anne Wright, but she changed it, once they got married. He didn't have a first name, to begin with. Picked "Jake", after she told him he needed one. The rest is family history. Since then, we've stayed low and kept out of trouble, until I went and joined the Space Corps, then started International Rescue. I, uh… didn't mean to cause a ruckus. But, that's how I met your father, Kyrano… and found out there was more than one surviving Special family. The Kyranos made it, too, by keeping to themselves and living underground. Avoiding contact with what they called _'typicals'."_

"Except for the Hood," cut in Kayo. "He's been nothing but public, and bloody awful."

Jeff nodded, shifting position in the padded rear seat.

"Decided he was sick of hiding. Wanted to make regular humans afraid. Turn them into his slaves. Kyrano didn't agree, and tried to stop him, with my help."

They were silent for a bit, watching the rain clouds break past them in hissing and pattering bursts. From time to time, there was a brief spear of brilliant white lightning, followed by muttering thunder. Then,

"Special _how?"_ asked Tanusha, sounding troubled. "What is it that makes us so different, Dad?"

Jeff sighed. Raking a big hand through his dense, grey-brown hair, he said,

"The Tracy line was selected for strength, endurance and speed, princess… with odd new traits springing up, as each generation appears. Don't know how else to explain Gordon's speed in the water, John's near-psychic hacking ability… or Virgil's strength. That first Tracy's genes were tweaked so that his descendants became more than human. Took a lot of tries and false starts, though. Their first real success was Jake… only he didn't choose to be used as a weapon. He went AWOL, instead. Found himself a pretty girl and settled down. We always do."

Shadow had been placed on autopilot, heading due north for Scotland. This freed Kayo to think and ask questions, without maybe crashing her plane.

"That's what's got the chancellor's knickers in a twist, then? He's discovered what we can do, and he wants us pressed back into service?"

Jeff nodded.

"I'm afraid you're right, Princess… and I don't think he means to give us a choice in the matter. Shaw's already tried blackmail, and nearly killed the young intern who warned me about his special holding cells."

Sounded bad, the girl acknowledged, but then,

"What about me, Dad? I'm a Tracy by love and adoption… a Kyrano through stupid biology. What are my parameters? The Hood doesn't depend on physical strength, that I've ever seen."

Kayo heard her father move restlessly, as though his worried thoughts made it impossible to find a comfortable position. After a bit, he said,

"The Kyranos are psions, Tanusha. They have gifts ranging from mind control, to full-on TP and TK."

 _"I_ don't," she reminded him; feeling relieved and disappointed, both.

"Not sure why not," her dad told her. "Your biological father was stronger than the Hood, but a lot more ethical. In the end, I guess that's what killed him."

 _"No,"_ Kayo snapped back. "His brother killed him. Would have gotten me, too, or stolen me, if you hadn't been there with Uncle Lee. Maybe it's better I don't have any weird mind powers, Dad. I want to be like the rest of you. I don't _want_ to control people."

Just for a moment, she halfway recalled something terrible; something she'd done that had stabbed her adopted family right to the heart. Drawing a deep, shaky breath, TinTin shook her head.

"I don't have any strange powers. I'm strong, athletic and fast, is all... like a _Tracy."_ Then, hurriedly changing the subject, "This meeting in Edinburgh… who's going to be there, Dad? Not the GDF. That's a radioactive desert. An access-controlled disaster zone." She sensed, rather than saw, her father's baffled shrug.

"Me, for one, and the Mechanic's people, the cyborg Kanes. Probably the Kyranos, as well. Kane said there are other families. Seven or eight in total; he wasn't very clear how many."

"I'm going, too," the girl decided aloud, a hint of challenge creeping into her voice. "You'll need backup, Dad, and that's me. We don't face danger, alone."

"And if they try to reclaim you?" he asked, as though that fear was worse than the thought of risking his life.

"I'll say, _'No thanks. I'm a Tracy'_ , and fight my way out, by your side."

His smile felt warm and loving, like a brush of pipe-smoke and unshaven cheek.

"I hope we won't need to do any fighting, Tanusha… but, if it comes down to it, there's no one I'd rather stand up with than you and your brothers."

He was squeezing her shoulder, again, so Kayo reached up and across to press her father's big hand.

"They don't know, do they?" she suddenly asked. "You haven't told the boys _any_ of this!"

"Just Scott," he admitted. "I've raised all six of you like normal, happy, innocent kids. Away from government interference, as much as possible. _My_ Pa waited to mention all this, and so did I. It's a lot to carry around, Princess, and I just couldn't do it to them. Not until Scott asked about the Hood's obvious, unending hatred."

"He hates us because you took me?" she guessed.

"More than that. It's because we're out here in the world, living among regular humans… and because we're not "pure", anymore. Lucinda Taylor was a beautiful woman, and the love of my life, but she wasn't a Special."

"And that bothers the creep?" Kayo scoffed, snorting, "Good! I'll marry Captain Rigby, tomorrow."

A sudden, sharp flare of surprise and reflexive rejection blazed from her father.

"Rigby? _Marry?!_ But you're only nineteen! He has to be at least…"

"Twenty-six," Kayo filled in, smiling a little. _"Down,_ Killer! I was joking… mostly. I haven't gotten _that_ serious. Yet."

"At _all_ ," her father corrected. "You hardly know the man! He might be working for Shaw."

"At least I didn't just pick him up on the side of the road," Kayo teased mischievously. "Compared to Umpty-Great Grandma Jessie, I'm a pillar of iron restraint!"

"You're an incorrigible brat… but I suppose it's partly my fault. I may have spoiled you, somewhat."

Kayo smiled in the dim red cockpit glow. Then, she changed the subject again, asking,

"Any special coordinates, Dad? Or is it just Edinburgh, in general? It was a big city, back in the day, and a huge, glassy wasteland, now."

"Good question," he admitted. "I received a psionic message, like Kyrano used to send. It contained time and place, but no specific coordinates. That being the case, here's the plan: you get us there, then decloak Shadow and circle overhead a few times. We'll see if that stirs up a response. If yes, we play it by ear; follow their lead. If not, we drop back and punt; head back to the Reservation. I have a feeling that this meeting is vital, though. I think they'll show up."

The girl nodded, turning her attention back to the thrill and escape of a wild, rainy night-flight. She couldn't quite visualize those other Kyranos, much less the rest of the Specials. They were nothing but names and silhouettes; legendary monsters she'd be facing by next afternoon.

"I'll bet it's about the alien derelict," she assured herself, and him. "I'll bet they want to help out."

"And stay away from Chancellor Shaw," said her father, staring back out at the night. "We can't be the only ones he's gone after… but he won't succeed, TinTin. I intend to protect _my_ family, and everyone else's. If they need IR's help, they've got it, no matter what's happened before."

Hands on the controls, feeling Shadow slice through the air like an invisible dagger, Kayo nodded.

"We're not weapons," she said, "But we sure as h*ll know how to fight."

It was a sign of her father's distraction, that he didn't notice the cuss word, at all. Just drummed the fingers of his right hand on the armrest, and silently worked out a plan.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Mars, in the crowded cockpit of Thunderbird 3, a few hours later-_

"What do you mean, he's 'gone'?" Scott demanded, in a carefully controlled, quiet voice. Alan spread his hands, looking confused.

"I mean _gone,_ Scott. As in, not here, anymore! Havok and Fuse are still where I put them, sleeping it off… but, the Hood just up and vanished. Guess maybe he took off while we were working that mess with the crane?"

The young, golden-haired astronaut looked just about ready to cry. As it was clearly no use hammering Alan, Scott muttered an oath and pivoted to face John, who was already hard at work on his virtual data screen, searching. Virgil was present, as well, with Gordon and the little time-bender, plus the Mechanic and Beech. Standing room only, in a cockpit designed for just two.

"John?!" growled the tall field commander, "Tell me something I want to hear, Little Brother."

"I'm looking, Scott… So's Eos and, um… the Martian Secure Net." John's sea-green eyes were narrowed in concentration as he swiped and tapped at that midair virtual screen. About the time that he said, "Nothing, Scott. The Hood isn't anywhere on Thunderbird 3, or this base."

…Kane lunged across the cockpit to confront him, grabbing for the astronaut's left arm, with its suddenly red-gleaming wrist comm.

"That's _yours?"_ he accused, as the redhead shoved his snatching hand aside. "The A.I. that attacked me belongs to _you?"_

The atmosphere, already tense, turned electric. Kane was powerful, but injured. Meanwhile, John's environment suit made him strong enough to perform a rescue on Jupiter… and he wasn't backing down.

"First, he doesn't belong to me. Jaeger's a friend. Second, if he attacked you, he probably had a good reason."

Virgil and Cody had both started forward, intent on calming the Mechanic, while Scott, Gordon and Alan moved to surround and push aside John. Tried to, anyhow. With that suit, in the right mood, he was d*mn near unstoppable.

"Okay, you two, enough 's enough," Virgil ordered, surprising everyone. "We've got a legitimate, five-alarm threat running loose somewhere…" (A problem Kane didn't seem too worried about, Virgil noticed. _Hunh_.) "…and the last thing we need is a fight. Stand down, _both_ of you."

Kane looked from one Tracy to the other. He hurt all over, and needed a recharge, having spent far too much power creating a very unusual drone. Wanted to trust his mongrel allies, but…

"I want the truth, Spaceman," he rumbled. "I'll tell you what I've done with the Hood, and you explain that effing A.I. It came from the Hunter, didn't it? It's the one I was trying to capture, in Scotland."

"Wait, _you've_ got the Hood?" Scott cut in, not sure how relieved he should be. "Is he even _alive?"_

The Mechanic's cold amber gaze flicked his way, briefly.

"I said that I'd trade information. You first, Tracy. When did you acquire that thing, and why did it attack me?"

All of their wrist comms flashed red, briefly, then came back online, altered in ways that the GDF engineers couldn't handle. Said John,

"Yeah. Met him some time ago. He was the Hunter's A.I., awakened by accident, when a salvage crew got too close. I caught him in an electronic trap, and brought him up to Thunderbird 5, then let him out to help control the alien derelict and nanites. He's called Jaeger. It's old German. Means "hunter"."

Scott whipped around, seized his shoulders, and shook him.

 _"Dammit,_ John! That's not the kind of thing I need to be hearing, last! Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that monster is?!"

John's stance was rigid, his muscles bunching, but he _did_ talk, rather than shove Scott off of him.

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you about him, Scott. You wouldn't get it. You wouldn't give him a chance to learn from us, and alter his own programming. He's intelligent, Scott… like Eos. He can adapt. He _has_ been."

"Why," growled Kane, stalking forward, "did it attack me?"

John's gaze seemed to un-focus, for just half a heartbeat, as though he'd seen, and reacted to, something they couldn't. Coming back to the present, the astronaut turned to Kane and said,

"You were headed for Thunderbird 3, while no one else was aboard but some very dangerous prisoners. He remembers you, too, Mechanic, and he thought you were planning to steal our ship, or free the Hood. He hacked in for a look at your purpose. Then, once he learned what he needed to, Jaeger backed off."

The Mechanic was silent for a while, processing all of this. Then, grudgingly, he nodded.

"It might have looked that way," he admitted. "But I had other business. I agree with Ramrod that your "friend" is dangerous… but so am I, and that doesn't seem to be stopping our alliance."

"Okay, but… what about the Hood?" prodded Gordon, easing up with his med-kit. Wasn't sure what he could do for a wounded cyborg, but it was obvious that Kane needed help. "Where is he?"

The Mechanic shifted position; grinding and clanking like an overloaded mine-car. Addressing his words to Virgil, he said,

"I've had him dropped where he can't cause any trouble. He's got an altered collar on him, and he's been left at the bottom of a crevasse at the south pole, guarded by one of my drones. As long as he's time-locked, the conditions won't harm him. If he breaks free, he's dead."

Jerking his partly shaved, tattooed head at the cockpit windows, Kane added,

"Once we've dealt with that alien ship, I can come back and get him. He needs to face me in combat, not be taken away by the GDF. They can't hold him, and you know it."

"So, he's alive?" Virgil asked him, again. "Your word on that, Kane?"

"I didn't kill him," the Mechanic replied. "And I don't know how much my 'word' means to you lot, but I'll give it… so long as you don't interfere in my battle."

A beeping noise from the Bird's comm had drawn Alan up to the pilot's seat, for a look. Now, the young astronaut turned to the others and said,

"Hey, uh… guys? The derelict's still slowing down, and a lookout post on Deimos shows it starting to light up. I think we don't have as much time as we thought we did, fellas. I think its waking up."


	23. Chapter 23

Saluton! As they say, um... wherever they speak Esperanto. ;) Thank you for reading, you guys, and double thanks for reviewing! I'll pick up the pace a bit, because it's back to work, soon, for me. :)

 **23**

 _Edinburgh, Scotland, at the north-eastern edge of the former U.K.-_

To say that she felt alarmed, out of place in this city of ghosts, would have been a laughably wild understatement… had there been any leeway for humour. Kayo and her father had flown through the night, arriving in Scotland near dawn. The weather continued chilly and foul, partly hiding the nightmare below.

Cloaked as it was, their arrow-sleek Bird hadn't triggered any alerts on crossing the border. Only a fool would venture there, anyhow. After IR's battle with an ancient killing machine and the Mechanic, even GDF salvage operations had been suspended. Kayo's friend Rayna worked elsewhere, now.

Edinburgh had been a major and bustling port city, the second largest in all the U.K. Site of a terrible, winner-less battle, it had been burnt to a glassy wasteland; it's rippled surface pierced through with rusted spires of metal and heat-shattered stone. The ocean and broad, rain-lashed firth were choked with wreckage, from both losing sides of that long-ago battle.

One of the old city's great peaks… Castle Hill… had been blasted mostly to rubble, but Arthur's Seat was still there; grey-brown, hulking and barren. As she circled the radioactive shadowland, Kayo shook her head. What sort of beings would deliberately choose to meet, much less live, in such a horrible, grief-haunted place? The answer, _people who wanted to hide,_ brought her no comfort at all.

Craning his head, looking out both sides of the canopy, her father said,

"Bring us down lower, Princess. Slowly, though. We don't want to appear threatening."

Kayo obeyed, grumbling,

"If this is their idea of a wonderful place for a meet-and-greet, Dad, I don't think one cloaked plane's gonna scare them." Then, throttling back and shifting to VTOL, she added, "Dropping to five-hundred feet… coming out of stealth mode."

The clouds thinned out a bit, lower down, though the rain continued to spatter and squall. Here and there, she glimpsed the splintered stumps of old buildings. Once or twice, some abandoned GDF salvage gear, and a lone archaeology base camp.

"Wait," said her father, halfway through her second lap. "What's that?"

Colonel Tracy might have pointed, but Kayo picked up the direction of his glance some other way; 'seeing' what he did, before quite turning her head. A light was flashing below. Pale green and forlorn, it was blinking a clear mathematical pattern. Not Morse code. A burst of numbers which Shadow's computer identified as the Fibonacci sequence: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34… Like that.

"It's a signal," the girl decided aloud. "I think the welcome mat's out, Dad. Shall we land?"

The pale, flashing light came from an LED bulb mounted at the end of a roughly square, mostly level clearing in all of that melted and refrozen slag.

"Take us down, Princess, but be ready to launch in a hurry, if anything looks suspicious."

"F.A.B., Dad. Don't suppose you've got your sidearm?"

She heard him chuckle, from back in the padded rear seat.

"Yes, Tanusha. My GDF pop-gun is primed, all ready to swat flies with."

"Be fair," the girl teased, as that grey, heaving ocean disappeared behind wrinkled hills and corroded wreckage. "It's good for cracking peanut-shells, too."

"I toasted a pop-tart with it, once," her father admitted, "from a distance of under a meter. I was hungry, and didn't have time to leave my office."

Trying to talk while landing a plane and watching for trouble, Kayo asked,

"You didn't set off the alarms?"

"Nope," her father responded, as their view tilted from grey-and-rust patchwork to crumbled concrete and junk. "Sensors picked it up as a blow-dryer."

That shouldn't have been funny, considering that their lives might soon depend on a weapon with no more oomph than a lightly stretched rubber-band, but they were tired and punchy; inclined to scoff at potential disaster. Hiding a grin, Kayo aimed for a cleared square of ground, roughly the size of a football pitch. They landed vertically, shaken by rumbling engines and gusting wind. The up-rushing tarmac looked oddly new, beneath its light coating of wind-driven sand. Nor was their landing site the only surprise in this war-riven graveyard.

The nearest building had looked like a ruin from the air. At eye-level, it sported a rust-free, grey metal door. Some sort of bunker entrance, it no doubt led underground. She had to shut off her engine, and run a post-flight, of course, but her father was already unstrapping. Rain hissed and drummed on Shadow's canopy, spat from the clouds in furious sheets. Then, between one eye blink and the next, it stopped completely; blocked by a sudden force dome. Not blue, like IR's. Distorting and colorless. Meant to conceal, as well as protect.

"They definitely know that we're here," remarked Jeff, as his daughter rushed through her bare-bones lockdown and checklist. "Let's hope they're as friendly as they are prepared."

Kayo cocked a slim eyebrow, and smiled.

"Are you kidding?" she scoffed, almost sparking with willingness to fight. "There's _two_ of us here, and my wrist-comm's working, again. They've got us right where we want them, Dad." Her family code name _was_ Artemis, after all.

Jeff waited until his daughter popped the canopy. Then, he stood up. That light had quit flashing, he noticed. Looking up at the underside of the force dome, Jeff saw a reverse-image scene of rocks and detritus, just like the rest of poor, shattered Edinburgh. On the surface, at least.

Thunderbird Shadow was still ticking and settling, engines steaming in the cold northern air. Colonel Tracy vaulted down from the cockpit, landing in a slight crouch, on dark, undamaged tarmac. He straightened slowly, right hand close to his gun. Heard Tanusha jump down, as well, then come up behind him.

Jeff was about to suggest that they try the door in that sleek concrete bunker, when all at once it began to grind open.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Space, between Mars and the Earth-_

The alien derelict had slowed even further. Now, it began to change shape. Lines of blazing white energy shot through the vessel's dark flanks. In their searing wake, the massive ship seemed to bubble and shift. Like some inert, fire-scorched tree stump suddenly putting forth branches, the derelict's metal started to buckle, blister and flow. Inorganic, yet somehow alive.

Thunderbird 3 slid through the blackness of space, drawing nearer her quarry on simple inertia; her engines having been shut off, soon after leaving orbit. Safer to drift in, they'd reasoned.

Scott was in the copilot's seat, beside his youngest brother. He would rather have left Alan and Charlie behind, but the one was their second-best pilot, the other a powerful time-bender… and both were safer on Thunderbird 3 than stranded on Mars. He hoped.

"What's it doing?" Scott asked, in a husky half-whisper. "Dividing, or something?"

"I don't think so," said John, floating behind his brother's chair, one hand on the bulkhead to steady himself. "Deimos Station is picking up some fierce mass-energy conversions. It's turning its own matter into raw power, then using the energy to create something."

"That can't be good," Alan fretted, hating this unpowered drift like he hated back-pimples and his own squeaky voice.

"Yes and no," growled the Mechanic, from his magnet-locked stance on the deck. "Less mass equals less gravitational pull… and those look like engines."

Kane was right, Scott realized. Sprouting from the death-ship's sides were four titanic pods, like much larger versions of 3's engine nacelles. Dark and cold, except for their web-work of shimmering energy, the protrusions were growing fast, like the extra limbs on a gen-mod spider.

"Whatever we're doing had better be quick, guys," said Gordon, wishing that Charlie was somewhere… _anywhere…_ else.

Virgil hovered in the air behind Alan, clinging to the metal seat frame. Like the others, he'd been frustrated by Chancellor Shaw's cautious "wait and see" attitude. That thing _wasn't_ just going to drift past the Earth, like it had Mars. It was headed straight for their home, with malice aforethought. Thinking aloud, Virgil mused,

"We've got a powerful ship, Mega-Max, Eos…"

"And Jaeger," put in John, sort of stubbornly.

"Yeah. Him, too… plus ourselves, the Mechanic, a time-bender and a chaos-magician. More than Pete or Shaw know about. Gotta use that to come up with something quick and permanent. John?"

"The mass-transfer generator," suggested the tall, red-haired astronaut. "Put me down on that thing with our generator in hand, and I think I can cause it to become so massive that it tears itself right through space and into another universe. Eos has found a couple that are totally lifeless, and pretty close by… in multiverse terms."

Cody Beech and Kane came up with the same objection, almost together.

"Placing it on the surface isn't good enough. It'll just tear off a big chunk of hull, and banish that," said Beech.

"You'll have to get your device to the ship's centre of mass," rumbled the cyborg. "That means going inside."

"Yeah…" John admitted, fidgeting with his golden uniform sash. "I kind of figured. Just didn't want to say it, in front of my brothers. They worry a lot."

Scott inhaled sharply, about to start snapping commands and rebuttals. Virgil stopped him with an upraised hand.

"Wait, Scott… let's think this through. Gordon, you said that Charlie can make you faster, compared to your surroundings, right?"

Very cautiously, the swimmer nodded.

"Yeah. That's what we did back in the hangar, moving those ships out of danger, crazy-quick… but he's just a kid, Virgil. There's no way I'm going to…"

"There's a lot of kids involved in this, Gordon," said Alan, cutting in. "And they're all back on Earth, right in the path of _that_ thing." He jerked his blond head at the lumbering death-ship, mountain-high in their forward windows. "And, if we don't stop the impactor, now… they're all gonna die, G-man."

Gordon looked over at the boy, who'd fallen asleep in a bulkhead harness, while playing Alan's videogame.

"He's, like, ten years old!" the aquanaut protested. But Cody shook his head, no.

"Probably not, Tracy," said the chaos-adept. "He's a Dos Santos. Stress and panic makes them grow faster, as kind of a reflex defense-mechanism. He's been kidnapped and brain-scraped. I'd put him closer to three or four, actually."

Gordon couldn't speak for a bit. Didn't have to, though, because the Mechanic grunted, saying to John,

"You'd last ten seconds in there, without me to hold off the nanites. Need Beech, as well, to tip disaster our way."

 _"And,_ you might need some heavy lifting," added Virgil. "No telling what it's like in there, not being constructed for humans, or anything. Couple of Mini-Maxes could prove useful, too."

Scott sat bolt upright, realizing that he needed to give the go-ahead, but not wanting to put his brothers at risk.

"It's a stupid-ass plan," he snapped, stalling for time, or a better idea.

"You're right," John conceded. "But it's also the only one we've got. Pretty sure I can do it by myself, though."

"Pretty sure you'll be nanite-bait, three steps from the hull, Tracy," snorted the Mechanic. "Then, your generator will be lost, together with all the rest of your litter, and Earth."

The debate might have turned ugly, had Beech not stepped in. Smiling a little, the pale, slender young man said,

"It's going to take all of us. Some, here on your ship, running operations, and some over there, inside the derelict. Despite your chancellor's assurances, we can't wait for WorldGov. Left to themselves, the Typicals will convene one meeting after another, while plotting their own escapes, until that alien ship lands on their doorstep. I suggest we take it out of their hands. After all," he shrugged. " _I_ don't have any place better to be."

Gordon had drifted over to look at Charlie. The boy… _his_ little fella… was fast asleep, because, for maybe the first time in his very short life, he'd felt safe. The videogame was still beeping its tinny music, clutched in the time-bender's hand. Meanwhile, all of that longish brown hair drifted about with the air currents, looking like kelp.

A lot of stuff went through the aquanaut's mind, then; teaching Charlie to swim, ride a bike, shoot baskets. About life, and being a guy. But… it all came down to here, and now. Either they took the risk, and stopped that monster, or life on Earth was finished. It was an unfair, impossible situation. He wanted to rage and curse. To hit someone.

Instead, John glided over to put a hand on his shoulder. Very quietly, so as not to waken the sleeping boy, John said,

"There may be another way, Gordon. See… Jaeger can slow things down, too. It's why I thought I'd have a chance, by myself."

The swimmer surprised his older brother with a sudden tight hug, knocking them into the opposite bulkhead.

"I'll go in with you," he offered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm almost as strong as Virgil, and you never know… maybe I could confuse their computer with stupid jokes."

But John shook his head, no.

"Charlie needs his father, Gordon. You're all that he's got. You can't leave him."

"But…"

"I'll go," said Scott, unstrapping to float up out of his seat. "Me, John, Virgil, the Mechanic and Beech, plus Jaeger. Eos stays here, to help protect Thunderbird 3. No further debate. Virge, John… strap into your gear, and fetch that generator. Cody, get a spacesuit on. Kane, we need a drone-pod. Something big and powerful enough to carry us in there. Let's move, people."

Like he'd said, a stupid-ass plan, but all that stood between Earth, and the end.


	24. Chapter 24

Hey, guys. Sorry so late. Lots of life going on, lately. I thank you for the reviews, and promise a flood of replies, forthwith. =) Edited more.

 **24**

 _Edinburgh, former U.K.-_

A hammering rain and keen wind sluiced and fileted the dead city outside of their camouflage force dome. The black tarmac and still-settling aircraft smelt like wet earth and hot metal, complexly mingled with ashes and rust. The light level resembled that of a dense fog; low and diffuse. All of that was mere background, though; like the rustle and hiss of that sharp, icy wind.

Rather, what held every bit of Jeff Tracy's attention was the nearby cement bunker, with its new-seeming grey metal door. About fifteen yards away to their left, that out-of-place port had begun to slide open, grinding sideways along an ash-and-dirt-spattered track. There was a brief, awkward moment when Kayo tried to get between her father and possible danger, only to have Jeff elbow her back behind him.

"Seriously, Dad?" she hissed, "I'm about forty years younger than you, and in much better…"

Colonel Tracy silenced the stubborn girl with a single, sharp look. There was a time and a place for his offspring to question authority: never, and nowhere. Right hand hovering close to his sidearm, the tall, greying astronaut stepped in front of his seething daughter. He'd given some thought as to what he should say, but the 'welcoming committee' drove all of that straight from his head.

The door had opened completely. Light, of a cold, searing whiteness, leaked all around the tall forms of two very odd people; cyborgs, from the bulky and armoured look of them. Both appeared theoretically female, armed with speed, mass and integral weaponry. Right. Worse than just useless, his GDF sidearm would no doubt insult the pair. Jeff moved his hand away.

"You are expected, Colonel Tracy," said one of those silhouette Kanes. "The other is not."

Their red laser targeting systems flickered and searched, a thing he would come to learn indicated surprise or uncertainty.

"This is my daughter, TinTin," said Jeff, moving to place himself a bit more firmly between Kay, and both nervous machine-women. For some reason, he hadn't wanted to use her real name. Overly suspicious, most likely.

"You are permitted entry, Colonel Tracy, with daughter TinTin," said the speaker, inclining her sleek, mostly-chromed head. Then, the two cyborgs stepped backward into that brightly-lit bunker. Jeff nodded back, saying,

"Thank you."

Next, he followed the pair inside. The Kane stronghold was not a comfortable place to be, he soon discovered. The interior lighting was stabbingly bright, the air very cold and dry, reeking of ozone. As Jeff was a photic sneezer anyhow, the combination almost convulsed him, at first.

The bunker turned out to house a room not much larger than a potting shed, with seemingly bare concrete walls and a single round shaft in the floor, leading straight down. There were no stairs or ladders. Evidently, one was expected to sprout wings and fly.

Jeff was about to point out the obvious problem, when the other cyborg (who seemed somehow younger, less fully mechanized) produced a pair of jetpacks from a concealed locker. That camouflage force field, again; this time, concealing vital parts of a room. Colonel Tracy resolved to be very careful placing his steps, in case one of those screens hid a pit.

Then, Jeff shook his head. He was being paranoid, the astronaut reminded himself. Smiling, he accepted and strapped on the proffered jetpack. So far, no one had threatened real harm. Had they wanted to kill him, they could simply have mocked up a floor, and let him plunge into the open and yawning shaft.

"Follow," said the heavily-mechanized first cyborg, stepping into that cold, glowing pit. He hadn't had time to familiarize himself with the jetpack's controls, or even _find_ them.

"How do you operate this thing?" he asked bluntly, turning to the younger, more humanoid cyborg.

Once again, he was spattered with lively red target-light. Then, in a voice that was far more electronic hum, than meat-pumped air over shifting wet surfaces, she said,

"You think of up… or down. You think of angle and speed. Very easy."

Maybe so, for someone with cybernetic interface skills. Jeff had been hoping for buttons or toggles. Tanusha was making progress, at least; taking little hop-flights, with squinted green eyes and a very determined expression. Just like she'd looked, when learning to ride her first bike.

Then, the older cyborg reappeared, looking as puzzled by the delay as her polished chrome face would allow.

"Please follow, Colonel Tracy," she repeated. "You are expected, now."

Well, d*mned if he was going to seem nervous, or scared. Might end up as a tangle of shattered bones and dented equipment, at the base of some thousand-foot abyss, but get there, he would. After all, Tanusha was managing. How hard could it be?

Nodding at the gently bobbing cyborg, Jeff stepped confidently out into thin air. Started to plunge like a rock, until some part of his brain's primal death-howl got through to the jetpack, cutting it on. He didn't stop falling, but did slow down enough not to smash like an egg at the bottom of that long, concrete shaft.

Tucked and rolled when he hit ground, converting an ungainly, spiraling dive into a planned descent. A sputtering, muffled-curse, _bruising_ , planned descent.

His daughter came down more gracefully, still squinting against that migraine-inducing white light, which seemed to sweat from the very walls. Looking around, Jeff saw that three passages led off to the north, east and southwest. None were visibly marked.

The other machine-woman soon joined them, zipping in behind Kayo. She dropped like a silver-veined leaf from above, jetpack barely hissing. Both Kanes seemed confused by the Tracys' lack of mental jetpacking skill. As though even a child could do _that._

"We, uh… use stairs, where I come from," Jeff explained, once he was sure that nothing important had been sprained or torn in his very rough landing.

"Stairs," the older cyborg repeated, her amber eyes going blank momentarily, as she consulted some internal database. "These are a form of incrementally notched inclined plane, meant to provide access between levels, as in a building. See illustration."

She shook her head, saying,

"It is better to fly, Colonel Tracy and daughter TinTin, but I will choose a route with fewer drops, as we have here no 'stairs'."

Jeff smiled at her, revealing a couple of Scott-type dimples.

"My well-advanced joints would appreciate it, Miss… um… I didn't get your names."

The elder cyborg stiffened, saying,

"There is between us no giving or taking of earned names, Colonel Tracy. If you wish a more specific identification, you may call me Unit 15 Kane, and that one, Unit 67 Kane."

Jeff nodded, reminding himself that he did not know enough about these strange people, or their society, to avoid putting his d*mn foot in his mouth, clear up to the hip joint. An apology might be seen as admission of weakness or inferiority, so he just said,

"Of course. Lead the way, Unit 15."

She turned on her heel and began striding away along the north passage. Jeff and Kayo followed, making a mental map of the route, just in case.

"Why is it so _bright_ in here?" asked his daughter, trying to shade her eyes from a glow that seemed as directionless as it was powerful. Said the younger cyborg, Unit 67,

"This is conversion of lethal radiation, Colonel's daughter. If it were not so, nothing here could survive. That which is particle emission, is harnessed for power. That which emerges as gamma radiation, becomes visible light. Lower your optics."

Kayo opened her mouth to explain that she _couldn't_ , then shut it again. Why give away a potentially damaging weakness?

"Right. Should've though of that one, myself," she replied, determined to just soldier on. There was a constant background noise, too; between crackling hum and faint, high-pitched whine. For anyone with heightened senses, the place was a hellish nightmare of light and sound.

Fortunately, about ten minutes of walking through those branching, gradually widening passages, brought them to a darker, quieter place. A sort of pillared stone gallery, it ended at the far western end in a set of smooth metal doors. Grey, like the one outside.

Unit 15 gestured at the doors with one gleaming hand, saying,

"You are awaited inside. Please proceed."

"Thank you, Units 15 and 67. You've been of great service," Jeff responded, smiling again. Neither of the cyborgs returned the expression. They seemed to have very few facial settings, or else they suspected his motives. He'd seen no others along the way, either… although they might have just cleared the route, first, or been covered by more of that camouflage force-shielding. No way to tell, and he didn't like to ask, lest they get the impression that he was here to spy out the fatness of the land.

At any rate, as soon as he and Tanusha began walking forward, those big metal doors slid apart, revealing a cavern-sized circular room; like an arena, almost. It had been carved from some dark, sea-shell and ammonite-studded rock. The floor was grey metal. The lofty ceiling was ribbed with great, curving steel spars. Here, Jeff first noticed drones. Some of these were insectoid, like the Mechanic's. Others resembled great cats and sleek birds.

There were people, as well, forming a semicircle in the first tier of stone seats. Correction… some were present in fleshly fact. Others were here as holographic images. It looked a lot like a military tribunal; like he was here to answer charges.

Head high, Jeff Tracy entered and crossed the huge room, stopping some ten paces in front of the central personage. Another cyborg, she was half flesh, half chromed machine, with a delicate trace-work of circuits tattooing her honey-toned skin. One of her eyes was as amber as the Mechanic's, but the left was a gleaming red implant, set like a garnet in silvery metal. Her natural hair was black, blending smoothly with a mass of fiber-optic threads that shifted colour continually.

To her right sat a handsome young man with Kayo's black hair and vivid green eyes. To her left, an auburn-haired fellow with eyes as brilliantly blue as a gas-flame. There were others, as well, making a total of six waiting accusers. Said Jeff, because he refused to be cowed,

"Hi, there. You rang?"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Space, leaving Thunderbird 3 in a highly modified pod-drone-_

It had been rough, leaving Eos. Like his brothers, the A.I. tended to worry, only with added quantum awareness of cause and effect.

"John," she'd protested, giving the astronaut a tight, warming suit-hug, "You are heedless of your own safety. Reflect, please, that my presence has preserved your life many times, in the past."

"I know," he'd told her, shoving his emotions back in their various boxes. "And that's what I need you to do for Gordon and Alan. They've got Havok and Fuse aboard, plus the little guy. They're going to need your help getting through this. So will Grandma, Stephanie and Aunt Helen. I promised, Eos. Besides," he'd continued, wanting to lighten her mood, "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's PA + PN + LA + LN," Then he'd paused, waiting to see if she'd get it.

"You have foiled the (P + L) x (A + N)?" she guessed, solving his math riddle.

"That's what I have in mind, Pretty Girl," he'd assured her, there in the cargo hold. "I'm betting on sheer, organic unpredictability. Plus, Jaeger's along. They won't know what hit them."

Now, he was here, looking on from the copilot's seat, as Scott flew their spacecraft away from the shelter of Thunderbird 3. Virgil was with them, as well, along with the Mechanic, and Beech.

The small, sleek ship they were flying was a blend of pod-craft and drone. With very few rivets or seams, it looked more _grown_ than constructed. Wasn't intended for comfort, either, having only two seats, and minimal bathroom facilities.

Kane had altered the mass-transfer device, too, once he'd grasped what John wanted; using his power over all things metallic to reverse its action… like converting a motor to generate electricity… and vastly increasing its range.

The cyborg was still back there, in fact, stalking around the altered field generator, and making occasional tweaks. Virgil floated in midair nearby, offering helpful suggestions. Cody Beech was curled in a bulkhead harness, meanwhile. Resting, or something.

Asked Scott, as they glided through space, approaching the alien ship at a gentle tangent,

"Think we should say something to the girls? Penny won't like to find out later, what we're up to, here." He did not look away from his viewscreen or controls as he said this, sounding almost embarrassed to bring it up.

Virgil had heard his brother's question. Somersaulting in place to look forward, he muttered something to Kane, and then remarked,

"Emma's a ship captain. Right now, the GDF's probably going nuts, cancelling leave and calling in all their reservists. She's got worries enough. Besides, when I come back safe, that'll be all the _'I'm sorry, I love you,'_ she needs. Still probably hit me, though. She does that."

"Pen 'll freeze me out, for a while," admitted Scott, unusually talkative, considering that there was no beer in his hand. "I'll be sleeping alone for a month."

John had been listening, and now he allowed his thoughts to turn toward Ridley. He'd sent her ship back, as soon as he reached Mars, so that was alright. As far as the rest, his promise to come back with it, in one, still-breathing piece…

"Captain O'Bannon will yell a lot. Might even threaten court-martial, but then she'll just kiss me, again. If I tell her what's going on, now, she'll order me to try something different." He shook his head, making red-golden hair drift and stir. "Better not take the risk." Because, of course, Emma would tell Ridley, even if _he_ didn't.

The Mechanic had stopped working, to eavesdrop. Now, genuinely baffled, he said,

"You waste time and energy on what should happen through cloning, with your own kind for source material. Why?" In his mind's eye… through yet another half-formed memory… he glimpsed a dark-haired female, daring to face him, over some squalling vermin-spawn hostages. Drove the image away.

It was Virgil who told him,

"Because we're in love, Kane. That changes everything. _Before,_ you've got the whole playing field to work," he gestured broadly, at that, striking the bulkhead and then fetching up against the back of Scott's seat. "It's a target-rich environment, and you've got a mighty big gun. Then… I dunno… one of them just _clicks._ She's just the right one, finally, and you don't mind trading lots of strange, for one special steady."

And then, his dark eyebrows climbing, Virgil asked,

"Wait… you haven't, y'know, ever…?"

"Fascinating discussion," Scott cut in, "but Kane's love life is going to have to wait." (Most likely forever.) "It's show time."

They were quite close to that awakening death-ship, now. From this vantage, it looked more like a craggy dark landscape, shot through with rivers of blazing light, than a spacecraft. Like the gullied and tortured desert beyond their ranch. No evident windows or hatches. Just shifting, streaming metal and raw, looping energy plumes.

"You said that you spotted some kind of launch bay, Virge?" Scott probed, cutting away from a sudden fiery arch and swelling metallic protrusion.

"Yeah, before all _this_ started. On the side opposite Mars, about halfway down. Looks like the cave mouth up on West Cliff; you know… the clubhouse."

Scott snorted, but he knew what to look for, now.

"Do you think it knows we're out here?" he wondered, gem-blue eyes fixed on that eerily changing alien landscape.

"No," said John, after checking with Jaeger. "It's just…"

"…obeying programmed instructions on reaching a target," Kane concluded, his voice a low, muted rumble. "There's time to act, still."

Beech had uncoiled, and pulled himself free of the harness. Now, he drifted forward. The chaos-adept looked only halfway conscious, as though grey-matter-deep in that transforming alien derelict.

"It's older than I can grasp," he told them all, silver-grey wolf eyes unfocused. "Incredibly well designed and constructed. Not much to work with, in there."

"Do what you can," said Scott. "We'll provide a few surprises, once we get inside. Give you all the chaos you need, and then some."

"There!" Virgil called out, suddenly, pointing at a giant gap in that boiling hull. "That's what I saw!"

Scott nodded.

"Hang on to something stable, people," he warned, cutting their gnat-like ship at that vast, looming maw. "We're going in."


	25. Chapter 25

Hallo! Thanks, as ever, for stopping in for a read. Tikatu, Bow Echo, Creative Girl and Whirl Girl, my appreciation for your reviews. Edited. =)

 **25**

 _Under dead, blasted Edinburgh, in the far-deep stronghold of the Kanes-_

Jeff Tracy's flippantly challenging words seemed to hang in the air like an unclaimed belch; drawing mostly confused or contemptuous looks. There was a snort of suppressed laughter from the third seat to the left, though. ( _Someone_ got out, from time to time, it appeared.)

Standing there in that huge stone arena, with its floor of scored and abraded steel, Jeff glanced casually around at his six inquisitors; gauging moods and memorizing faces. The green-eyed young man to the cyborg's right was staring at Tanusha. His hard, handsome face wore an expression that hovered somewhere between anger, disgust and contempt. Maybe, also… a touch of interest? For her own part, his daughter looked off-her-stride nervous. The Kyranos were psions. How would their leader react to one of their number, who _wasn't_?

On the other flank of the beautiful cyborg, that auburn-haired man had glanced at him once, then quite pointedly looked away. Well, as his father had told him on several occasions: _'Son, no matter what you do, you're never gonna be good enough f'r some folks. Just smile, an' walk off. Ain't worth gettin' all rowdy over.'_ And, d*mned if Grant Tracy hadn't been right, every time.

Next to the arrogant wanker, was a slim, pale-haired man with very light, intense eyes; the one who'd stifled a laugh at his comment. Beside him was the holographic projection of a dark-haired, brown eyed woman with oriental or Indian looks. She, too, seemed scarcely able to stand him.

On the other side, a second hologram flickered and sparkled beside what seemed like a swirl of distortion; like the ripple effect of a cloaked, or time-shifted object. Those he could see were dressed in a varied selection of odd style choices. Their clothing ranged from pretty much nothing (Kane) to full black body suit with weirdly mobile crystal emblems (Kyrano) to a formal dark kimono, to pre-conflict business attire, and evening gown. Clearly, this lot didn't spend enough time in each other's company to share many habits.

Said the machine woman,

"As none of your family has ever attended a council, Colonel Tracy, your status here is uncertain. You were summoned to speak on two vital matters. Do you choose to do this, or will you depart, and be struck from our dealings, for all time?"

Her voice was metallic and artificially amplified, but not unpleasant. Nor did she seem angry, at all... though emotion was tough to gauge on that lovely, mask-like face. Before Jeff could answer her, a clanking and rattling scurry of mechas came pouring into the chamber; some climbing down from the walls, some flying or galloping over the floor. These swiftly gathered behind Jeff and Kayo, linking up to form two high seats, hers just a bit behind his. Both chairs were equipped with steps, he noticed, smiling in pained remembrance. Taking the hint, Colonel Tracy bounded up onto his seat, and settled in. After a moment, Kay did the same.

"You've got the advantage on me," he told the cyborg. "You know each other, and me… but I don't think we've met. I can guess that you'd be a Kane, and that _he's_ a Kyrano…"

 _"The_ Kane, and _the_ Kyrano," she corrected him, as a mutter and shuffle of scorn passed through the others, except for his friend with the sense of humour. "These are titles, as yours will be 'the Tracy'… if it is felt that you belong in this council."

His robotic seat was hard, and not entirely stable, being composed of individual, self-willed units, but at least the tribunal weren't just making them stand there. That was a good sign. Meant they were willing to listen, at least.

"Tell you what," said the astronaut, shifting around to get comfortable, "How about we introduce ourselves, and then you can ask me those questions. I'm Jeff Tracy. No 'the' that I ever heard about… but then, we've been out of touch, since before the last conflict. My ancestor up and left McConnel Air Force Base, rather than get used as a piece of equipment. Then, he did his level best to just disappear. I'm guessing you folks had it rougher. My friend Kyrano told me some of that, before he was killed by the Hood. My daughter, here, is his child. We adopted her, fourteen years ago."

There was a short, awkward silence. Then, just as Jeff had begun to worry that he'd broken some unforgiveable social code, the cyborg replied,

"I am Gail Kane, and my people have remained hidden since fighting their way free of Dreghorn Barracks. We are, as is obvious, quite distinctive. It is to our advantage to keep out of sight. _This,"_ she indicated the green-eyed young man, "is Lord Kyrano. He will tell you whatever he chooses to, in his own time and manner."

In a like fashion, she introduced Lords Harris and Hiro, and Lady De la Vega. The other guy introduced himself, saying,

"Edwin Beech. Like Madame Kane, I have a clansman traveling with _yours,_ Tracy. It seems that your sons rescued one of my people from the Hood. I am grateful."

"You're welcome," Jeff told him, risking a smile. Beech's response was no more than a brief flicker of facial muscles, almost a tic, but it was there. Pretty solidly, the Colonel sensed that Kane and Beech, at least, were on his side.

That weird distortion had not been introduced. Jeff started to turn in its direction, but then Madame Kane began speaking, again. So… their cloaked fellow Special was not meant to be noticed? In disgrace, or something? He didn't know, and wasn't sure how to find out, without causing further offense.

"Colonel Tracy," said the machine-woman, "This council has been convened for two causes. First, we must decide your status, and fathom your doings. You bring unwelcome attention to us all."

"And, you flaunt _their_ uniform," spat Lord Harris, as small flames began to wink in and out of the air all around him. Temperature spiked, too. "You accept their rank and their leash, like an eager, groveling hound."

Jeff blinked. He was still in his blue-and-white GDF uniform, which had been washed and pressed by the servants at Penny's grand hunting lodge. Still…

"Can't say that I'm wearing _anyone's_ leash, Harris. I decided to join the Space Corps out of college, because I wanted to fly and explore _…_ because I wanted adventure. This uniform represents WorldGov, not the institutions that created us. Those are long gone, all of them. Chancellor Shaw may have some idea that we exist…" (Didn't say anything more on that, as he didn't want to provoke assassination attempts) "…but he's a long way from bringing us back to heel."

"And yet," said Lord Hiro's holographic image, leaning forward, a bit, "The means exist for him to do just that, Tracy. You are very public, and your actions incur risk, to not only yourself." Interestingly, Hiro was a tough guy to read or get a clear picture of. His features, shape and size were always in flux; blending smoothly from one form to another.

"That's fair," Jeff admitted. "But, I didn't realize that there was a larger 'Special' community, when I went out and broke my family's _'stay low, stay humble'_ code. Jake Tracy didn't want to hurt anybody… he just wanted a life. All I did was head out and pitch in, where I thought I could do some good. No harm intended."

Kyrano had said nothing aloud, up to that point. Now, in a voice that fairly crackled with scorn and distaste, the young man snapped,

"You risk _everything._ The Tracys parade what must be concealed, in ridiculous sport as well as in "rescue". We might have some rogue members…the Hood and Mechanic… or allow our young to visit Typical cities and rut their females, as do the Beeches… but we do _not_ fetch and carry for those who once enslaved us!"

Kayo stood up from her linked and humming drone-chair, eyes flashing fire. Colonel Tracy moved to silence the girl, but she shook her head.

"No, Dad… I've got an answer for Mr. Purebred, over there. Welcome to here and now, Smart-guy! The war is _over._ If you want to hide under the floorboards like a roach, be our guest, but some of us have guts enough to get out there and make a difference. Don't criticize my dad and brothers, when _you_ can't even control one whack-job psychotic killer, like the Hood!"

Jeff reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Felt another migraine coming on, with Kayo Kyrano written all over it.

"TinTin," he urged, in a tight, quiet voice, "sit _down."_

"Dad, you haven't heard what that jackass is _thinking,"_ Tanusha blurted. Then she stopped, as she realized what she'd just said. "I mean…"

"Sit, Princess," her father repeated, in kinder, more comforting tones. "I can fight my own battles, and… as your Grandma would put it… Some people ain't worth the spit it'd take ta cuss 'em out."

Tanusha stood there on her metallic and glittering seat, trembling slightly. Then, with a nod to her father, and a final glare for the handsome Kyrano, she sat down again. Things were going on in her head… voices, images, pulls… and she didn't know quite how to handle the change. Her father gave her a quick, encouraging smile, and then turned his attention back to the council.

"Right," he said, briskly. "Let's cut through the bullsh*t. As I see it, the main problem here, is that my family's open rescue activities are making it harder for the rest of you to stay hidden. Maybe… just a thought, people… it's time to step out of the d*mn shadows. That's what my friend, Kyrano, thought, anyhow… and they killed him for it. Maybe you're too young to remember him, Son," Added Jeff, staring hard at the tall and rigid Kyrano, "But he was a good, decent man; courageous and open to change. I miss his friendship and mental 'post cards'… but his daughter is part of my family, now, and she's in the rescue business, too. Maybe you-all should think about joining us. The Mechanic has."

It was Madame Kane who responded first, saying quietly,

"My kind would not be welcomed, Colonel Tracy. Instead, the technology that created us has been outlawed by your world government. They would have us captured and destroyed."

"Laws can be changed," Jeff told her, "And you only seem frightening when nobody knows what you are, or when a former villain is your only representative."

Lady De la Vega spoke next. She was here as a hologram, like Hiro. Now, the short, dark-haired woman said,

"My people produce and control disease, Tracy. We were created to decimate armies and vanquish whole nations, in darkness and secrecy. No one freely accepts a De la Vega. They _fear_ us… as is our due."

Jeff shrugged. Linking both hands comfortably behind his head and then stretching his legs out before him, crossed at the ankle, he mused,

"Seems to me like you'd be a natural with vaccines, too. Bet you could put a screeching halt to super-flu and weaponized rabies, if you wanted to."

 _"Precisely._ Because what the world clearly needs more of, is Typicals," sneered Harris, literally beginning to flare. First his auburn hair and eyebrows, then his fingertips flickered with red, dancing light. Those beside him inched away on their stone benches, as the pyrogen snarled, "They should all be put down like stray dogs, together with those of us who consort with them!"

Beech, the only one besides Madame Kane to reveal a first name, shook his head.

"Believe it or not, Tracy, we don't all think like pecker-head, there."

Harris whirled on the ghostly-pale Special, his wrath starting small fires throughout the arena. Mechs and drones scurried after them, some even leaving Jeff's chair in their zeal to douse flame. Said the angry pyrogen,

"I believe that one of _your_ half-vermin offspring was recently dredged from a gutter by Tracy, was she not, Beech? Perhaps you owe him a favour? Is that it?"

The bench and railing suddenly cracked beneath Harris, dumping him flat to the hard metal floor, where he landed with a loud, crashing thud. Then, a drone mistimed its sputtering flame-douser, covering his furious lordship in sticky white powder. All seemingly accidental, all coming from Beech. Lord Harris lunged to his feet, burning the powder… and most of his own clothing… right off himself. Warping energy to create a strong thermal, he lifted himself back up onto that tiered stone seating, loaded for bear. Then everything seemed to slow down, permitting someone to act.

"My lords," Madame Kane interrupted, moving to place herself between the two men, "this display lessens respect. Let us table the matter, and grant the Tracys provisional status. This is my recommendation, and my word. Let he or she gainsay, who is willing to face me in battle. I hold my lordship through strength, not by vote."

Some might have grumbled, but no one felt offended enough to challenge the cyborg's decision. Instead, they sat down; Harris flickering back out, again (and stiffly accepting Beech's grey pinstriped suit jacket), the rest accepting Kane's lead.

Meanwhile, Jeff's mind was racing. Zara… was a left-side daughter of Lord Beech? Had Shaw known about that? Had he been planning to use her as bait for some larger plan?

"Lord Tracy," the cyborg began, only Jeff held up a quick, stalling hand.

"Please," he said. "I grew up on a ranch, roping steers and shoveling horse apples. I'm not a d*mn lord. 'Colonel' will do me just fine."

Madame Kane didn't smile. Might not even have known how. But she did say,

"You are Colonel, then, which is equal to Lord… And the second matter now rises before us. What is the nature of this alien derelict, Colonel Tracy, and how may it be stopped from destroying our world?"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, at the frozen and briny south pole of Mars, in darkness and silence, something encountered the Hood.


	26. Chapter 26

Feels like a mini chapter, but I wanted to write it out before returning to my usual work schedule. Down to once a week, again. Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys! ;)

 **25**

 _Interplanetary space, between Earth and Mars-_

Scott Tracy didn't fly like a regular pilot. Never had. He flew as if he _was_ the spacecraft; practically sinking himself into its systems. It was a strange design, though, and took some getting used to; a hybrid of pod craft and drone, having all the power of a jet fighter, without the noise and bulk. Not Thunderbird 1, but not bad.

This close to that massive alien ship, gravity seemed to shift and ripple in waves, making them first weightless, then crushingly heavy. A thousand feet below, the giant vessel continued to change; budding four sleek engines, as huge bolts of white energy swept over the hull. There were no 'landmarks'. Nothing recognizable as parts of a normal spaceship. Just hundreds of square miles of tortured and buckling neutronium.

Scott's target was the one thing in all of that frantic motion that _wasn't_ changing; a great plateau split by an opening, like a battered rectangular launch bay or cannon muzzle. The pilot's mouth was dry as they hurtled for the cavern-like slash. Pulse and breathing were a little quick, too… but his hands were steady. Scott throttled back and dropped altitude, essentially preparing to fly underground. Felt insane, but they were bang out of options.

Beside him in the copilot's seat, John was busy with calculations, programming a force shield strong enough to defend them from radiation bursts, gravity shifts, hard vacuum and hitchhiking nanites. See, it wasn't good enough to simply destroy that monster. Not one self-replicating nanite particle could be allowed to escape. Otherwise, they'd only have shifted the problem, not ended it.

Their tiny ship cut past a sudden, lashing outgrowth and into that titanic maw, trading the boiling hull for a vast cavern of straining and thudding dark metal. Inside, the vessel seemed to be formed of enormous pillars or blocks. They thundered like pistons in every direction, sometimes nearly smashing their fragile pod, sometimes opening out to form a gigantic, lightning-filled dome. A thin, bluish atmosphere swirled and poured like fog from thousands of hidden vents.

"We've got air?" Scott wondered aloud.

"It's nitrogen," John told him, looking up from the flashing data screen. "Combined with some kind of kick-ass fumigant. Scans like a neurotoxin, but I can't be sure without taking samples."

"Guess they don't like social calls," said Virgil, peering over the back of John's seat. The Mechanic had come forward, as well, leaving Beech with their altered generator.

"It exists to destroy organic life, Tracy. Not just the big and intelligent kind. Its designers were smart enough to anticipate smaller 'infections' on the hull and inside."

"So, let's give it something they didn't include in their projections," said John tapping his wrist comm and whispering, " _Los!" (Go!)_

Released, Jaeger flashed like red cannon-fire from the comm, to John's golden sash, and then out of their ship. Scott kept on flying.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" he asked, staying focused on those massive, plunging and rearing components; on bursts of nova-bright energy and sudden shockwaves.

"The centre of the ship," John replied, "Or as near as you can put us." Then, turning to face the cyborg, "Kane, Jaeger's uploading a vessel schematic and circuit map. I'd look it over, myself, but…"

"Stay on the force shielding," said Kane, over the pod's nearly-constant alarm klaxon. Leaning forward, the bulky cyborg gestured at their comm panel, causing it to extrude a long, silvery cable. This, he snagged and drew outward, plugging it into one of his armour's many sockets. For a few moments, the Mechanic was perfectly still, receiving a tidal-wave of data.

Scott barely noticed.

"Need a plan," he grunted, hauling left on the steering yoke, _hard._ "We're running out of space, here." Like a 3-D game of Tetris, he thought; only, the blocks didn't just fall, they appeared, birthed out of eye-searing energy flares, right in his d*mn path.

"Down there," Kane ordered, pointing across Scott's muscular shoulder. "Where that big component block just moved. Through the opening."

"Uh…" Virgil hedged, craning to see past his brothers. "Is there room?"

Because the long, vertical gap, already narrow, was closing like a set of mighty neutronium jaws. Cody Beech had been silent, concentrating. Now, he said,

"It's going to jam. Bad code, after all this time… Part's the wrong size. _Now!_ Go, now."

Scott throttled forward, pushing their boosted engines to redline. Had to flip sideways to get through the narrowing gap, drawing an arc of fiery sparks as his tail fin scraped super-dense alien metal. A long, grating shriek filled the cockpit, followed by the awful noise of crumpling metal. The little pod ship pitched and convulsed, but they made it through in most of one piece. Tail was gone, filling the air with jagged slivers.

"Sh*t," Kane snapped. Then, "Keep flying, Tracy. I'll make repairs."

Yeah, right. Keep flying… with no tail assembly and a ruptured hull, trapped in a rumbling mechanical landslide.

"No problem," he grunted, running through his few scraps of memorized prayer. Meanwhile, John worked on their force-shield; keeping the atmosphere in and the nerve gas out, as Beech took their damage, and twisted it outward. Felt like facing a hail of machine-gun bullets with skillfully wielded fly-swatters.

Entropy flared outward in magnified waves, taking little things and then snowballing them into catastrophe. All this time, Jaeger flashed like an electronic firestorm, blasting through one system after another; corrupting code and misdirecting data streams, attempting to halt the death-ship's metamorphosis.

Everyone was feverishly busy; sweating and muttering oaths. Scott, most of all. Kane had worked miracles; shaping the hull from inside to create a new tail, but now their balance was all wrong. Scott struggled to keep their crippled spaceship in the poisoned air. Got an assist from Jaeger, who lined their hull in red fire, restoring their aerodynamics and providing a stolen 'friend' recognition code.

Bright side: they'd made it through the worst of that clashing and shifting maze. Not so good: what lay ahead. Clouds of fast-moving mecha darted in streams across a space that seemed endless. Long, heavy cables lashed and coiled like serpents; each as wide as an eight-lane highway. In their midst hung some kind of reactor, just now coming to life. It was shaped like a smoky crystal, with too many sides and differently rotating surfaces. The eye and the brain couldn't grasp it all.

"A tesseract," said John, leaning forward to watch as the enormous crystal turned on more axes than seemed natural. Those cables were drawing closer, making ready to hook up for power. One brushed them with a dull, booming _THUNK_ , knocking their ship violently sideways.

"If you tell me we've got to land _there…"_ Scott groused, fighting the crystal's pull.

"Wouldn't recommend it," said John, shaking his head. "That's a four-dimensional object. We'd be swept inside, and might not find our way out, again."

Nice. Virgil had been staring at something else, entirely; brown eyes wide and concerned. Rapping at the top of John's head, he said, urgently,

"Let's find someplace to land and unload the package, people. We've got trouble."


	27. Chapter 27

Time for that periodic disclaimer: I don't own these guys, but I sure do love them. ;) Thanks for coming along. Thunderbird Shadow, Akimakel, Creative Girl, Bow Echo and Whirl Girl, I very much appreciate your helpful comments and valuable insights. Will respond with alacrity. Have to go out to lunch with my clamouring son, first! =)

 **27**

 _Traversing the vast space inside of a slowly awakening alien death-ship:_

"We've got trouble," Virgil had told them.

Faced by a huge, dimly pulsing crystal, surrounded by snaking cables as large as the new Channel Tunnel, flying for his life, Scott risked a look back and sideways. Got just a fleeting impression, because he didn't have time to stare, but what he saw made his gut clench.

First, their entrance had vanished. There were no more gaps in that thumping and slamming neutronium wall. No portals or passages big enough to fly through. Second, the massive block-and-pillar surfaces behind them were no longer solid structures. They had been divided repeatedly by flares of branching white energy, forming what looked like a canyon wall of awakening nanites. _'Oh, sh*t,'_ just didn't seem adequate.

"It's them," Virgil murmured. "The whole frickin' _ship_ is made out of nanites!"

John nodded, adding a few new terms to his on-the-fly shield equations, thinking: _landslide, dust-storm and robotic locust swarm._

"There's no central intelligence," Kane informed them, after scanning the vessel's cyber traffic. "No computer core. Each part adds to the swarm's programmed behaviour."

"So... no big red button to press, no handy self-destruct sequence, and no 'hive queen' to take out," said Scott, cutting toward a relatively stable, floating box-thing. The size of a warehouse, their potential landing-site appeared to be made of the same dark metal as everything else, in there. "It's all or nothing."

Once again, his astronaut brother nodded, saying,

"I'm sorry you came with me, Scott… everyone. Figured this was kind of a one-way trip, and…" he shrugged, not wanting to say: _I was planning to kamikaze this bastard, alone._

The Mechanic barked something close to a laugh.

"Unless you're one h*ll of a pilot, John Tracy, you wouldn't have been able to fly and handle shields, both."

Cocking a red-golden eyebrow, John boasted,

"I am one h*ll of a pilot. Scott thinks he's better, but he's wrong. Jet fumes on the elderly brain, is all."

"True," put in Virgil, grinning boyishly. "But I'm better than both of you put together; anytime, name your conditions, whatever you want to fly… and I'll prove it, once we're back home."

"Challenge accepted," grunted Scott, cutting his air speed through that fog of poisonous gas, and lining up with the huge metal 'box'. There were no markings or evident doors, but it was the target of sweeping energy bursts from the nearby power crystal. Had to be important. About once a minute, the whole thing was bathed in violet-white lightning. "Think that stuff's dangerous?" he wondered aloud.

Virgil snorted.

"Seriously, Boss-man? What in here _isn't?_ " he demanded.

"It's communication," said Cody, coming part-way out of his working trance. "This is a sort of starter, left just awake enough to track distance. Earth was targeted over three-thousand years ago, after the derelict's last cleansing job. I'm not an astronomer, but it looks like the ship was last active somewhere in the constellation Orion. This 'starter' is what's triggered the metamorphosis."

"Good place to set a gravity bomb, then," Kane decided. "If your pet A.I. can keep the system from realizing we don't belong here, and Beech makes all the luck go our way, this could work."

"Doing my best," said Cody, smiling faintly. He was having to harvest their pod-ship's structural damage, along with the chaotic billowing of that nerve gas atmosphere, just to have some entropy to work with. The ancient ship had been too well-designed for easy manipulation.

Scott kept on flying. Weaving past giant, serpentine power cables, slicing through that thin, toxic 'air', he brought them close to the starter, extended his landing gear, then eased his way straight down. Settled in very gently, as there was no sense disturbing anything's beauty rest.

The surface vibrated slightly, like the deck of a GDF cloud-carrier. That enormous, 4D crystal hung before them like a rotating, self-swallowing moon; eerie to look at, and slowly brightening. Gravity changed constantly this close to the thing, making tethers a vital necessity.

"We're going to have to stay together," said John, "If we want to keep everyone shielded. My projector's only got so much range."

"Works for me," shrugged Scott. "I hate waiting in the car."

The poet in him was stirred by his incredible surroundings, the pilot by their challenging task… but the rest of Scott Tracy just wanted to make it back home to his folks and his woman. Wished he'd sent her a message, after all.

Feeling various things, (and hiding them well) the five young men gathered at their pod-ship's port bulkhead; spacesuits on, generator packed and ready to go. Kane gestured, and the hull simply irised open before them because, hey… who needed an airlock, with the Mechanic along? A boarding ramp formed, too, as jumping or climbing in shifting gravity fields was not recommended.

Jaeger's red gleam followed them out of the ship, reinforcing their pearly blue force bubble. Scott and John went first, followed by Virgil and Kane with the mass-transfer generator, and then Cody Beech, who drifted along like a sleep-walker.

Together, they made their way down-ramp; stepping carefully against waves of varying gravity that one moment crushed at them, the next sent them hurtling up against tight-straining tethers. Their shadows shrank and grew with the crystal's pulses. Sometimes, they cast more than one shade, in odd colours and orientations. Seemed as if 4D sourced light came from weird angles, or something.

The surface hummed through their boot soles like the sound of wasps and the feel of a mild electrical shock, whenever both feet were planted. You got used to it. Meanwhile, those sweeping energy waves didn't hurt, exactly. They filled your head with too much distance, age and hatred to grasp, eroding at purpose and plan.

The young men moved across the starter like ants on a boulder, as those vast, impossibly distant dark walls continued to break up, forming seething tides of nanites. Scott led the way, about thirty yards out from their pod-ship.

"Right here," he said to Virgil, and the Mechanic. Then, "John, you're the one who knows what you did to this contraption. You're up, Little Brother."

Kane and Virgil had managed not to drop or lose that alternately super-heavy, then weightless generator. Now, they eased it down on the starter's buzzing metallic surface. Stepping back a few paces, the cyborg caused screws to bud out of its casing. Another sharp gesture caused them to lengthen, then drill their way into the stuff of the landing site.

Beech caught and diverted the entropy, Jaeger stifled alarm signals, and John programmed like mad; his sea-green eyes never leaving that virtual keypad. The thin, poisoned atmosphere didn't carry much sound… machines had no need for such… but all five young men could hear a deep, intermittent thumping noise from below. The starter's countdown clock, probably.

"Time's almost up," the Mechanic remarked, as an opening began to form in one of those far-distant walls; just an unzipping river of light, that soon yawned like the Grand Canyon. Vertical, though. The noise produced was that of a hundred miles of crackling cellophane and shattering glass.

"Understood," said John, reaching for Brains' proverbial big red button. "It's on a three-minute timer, or else you guys can go back to the ship, and I'll…"

"Shut up, Dumbass," said Virgil, giving his red-haired brother a rough, affectionate shove. "That's not how we do things. You know that."

"However you 'do things', it needs to be _now,_ Virgil Tracy," rumbled Kane. "Listen. The countdown has stopped."

So, taking a deep breath, John pressed the button that switched on their altered generator. At the same time, those seething, particulate walls burst forth in an endless, tornadic storm of nanites, completely inundating the starter, the pod-ship, and one tiny bubble of swirling blue force. Everything vanished in a roaring hurricane of ravenous dust.

From out there in Thunderbird 3, meanwhile, wide-eyed and worried, Alan whispered,

"Oh, _crap…!"_


	28. Chapter 28

Last bit for the week. =) Thanks for reading, guys. Your reviews mean a lot!

 **28**

 _Velvet-dark Space, between Mars and the fragile, unready Earth-_

At the controls of Thunderbird 3, Alan Tracy strained bruisingly tight against his seat straps. Feeling totally helpless, he could only watch as the giant derelict completed its metamorphosis. From tumbling space junk, it had converted itself to a massive, arrow-sleek warship, with his brothers still trapped there, inside. Far from sending the thing to another dimension, John's plan had actually rushed its awakening.

"Eos, what's happening, in there?" Alan demanded, his voice cracking in mid-frantic-sentence. "Are they alright?!"

The A.I. did not respond directly, merely producing the annoying beep that he and Gordon called her "busy signal". The swimmer glided forward with Charlie, who was now wide-awake, and still holding Al's videogame player.

"We gotta go after them, Alan," his aquanaut brother urged fiercely. "Something's gone wrong. They need help!"

That's when the alien ship seemed to just come apart; as first a river of searing white light split open the hull, and then a long plume of star-blotting dust blasted forth.

"The heck with no comms!" snapped Alan, hitting his wrist-device. "Scott, John, Virgil? You there? Anyone listening?! Where are you guys? Where can we pick you up?"

Only, there was no answer, at all.

XXXXXXXX

 _Mars Base-_

Down in the cramped, hive-busy command centre, meanwhile, Admiral McCord leaned past a subordinate's shoulder, watching events out in space. The alien death-ship had come fully awake, and some of those vomited nanites were turning. Like a swarm of black locusts, they were headed for Mars.

Pete straightened away from the console. In a calm, level voice, he said to his people,

"Evacuate the base. Not a drill. Dependents and civilian staff, first. Interceptors to fly escort. _Move."_

Alarms began sounding, signaling evac. All over the command centre, GDF personnel hurried to contact pilots and organize a rapid and total retreat.

"Sir," said one of those officers, gesturing toward the emergency airlock. But Pete shook his head, no.

"I leave last, if at all, Captain." Then, "You have a daughter, here, don't you?"

The taller man hesitated, briefly, then nodded.

"Yes, Admiral: Kaya. She's in kindergarten. They'd, uh… they'd be at lunch, right now."

Pete reached across to clap the other man's uniformed shoulder. See, he had a baby-girl, too. He'd had a wife once, even.

"Get the h*ll out of here, and find your kid, Mister. That's an order."

Clearly torn, dark eyes reflecting both duty and longing, Captain Buhari urged,

"Sir, come with us. The fleet needs…"

"The fleet needs exactly what it's got; good officers, who know how to run things, without a d*mn guidebook and babysitter. Now, _go,_ Captain… before I bust you back down to your mama's womb!"

It was a skeleton crew... two Marines and an engineer... who remained on base with McCord, as the evacuation fleet began lifting off and away.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, at the ring, early evening-_

Sharl-who-Waits-no-longer, Professor Moffat and Grandma Tracy stared in horror, as three precious icons flashed off their shimmering comm globe. Scott, John and Virgil had ceased to transmit… or died. Sally's right hand groped upward to cover her mouth. The other clutched tight to a padded armrest. Beside her, Max uttered a low warble, while Moffy reached over to clasp Grandma's hand, and wide-eyed Sharl touched her thin shoulder.

"It's going to be fine, Mrs. Tracy," said the professor. "They'll be alright, I'm sure of it. No doubt, this is all part of some scheme they've cooked up with Hiram." At least, she fervently hoped so. Nearby, Rigby and Sheffield just waited and cursed, while Caleb pulled Kaise into a sudden, tight hug. This was it; the moment where everything changed… or did not.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Below cracked, blasted Edinburgh, in the stronghold of the Kanes-_

The council was still in session, its lords and ladies met to consider their options. Jeff, sitting up very straight in his linked-mecha seat, had just told them,

"Four of my sons have gone to Mars to survey the derelict, meaning to find some way to destroy or divert it. One of _your_ people… the Mechanic… went along with them. What we know, so far, is that… um…"

The colonel hesitated, because Madame Kane had stiffened, suddenly. The cyborg's amber-brown, natural eye stopped blinking entirely, while the other one target-locked the far wall. A long moment passed. Then, in a very flat voice, she said,

"Something has happened."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _London, former U.K., in the Chancellery-_

Chancellor Shaw leaned forward in his big leather seat, watching all that transpired on the wall-sized viewscreen. A small, intent smile touched his face, because… either way, whatever happened… he was about to win. As the far-sighted public servant who'd dispatched IR, or the sorrowing leader who snatched humanity's remnant from chaos, Sebastian Shaw would soon be unshakably powerful. All he needed was a few properly humbled Specials, to complete his triumph.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Inside of the alien vessel-_

All the world had become scratching, buzzing, roaring noise, and battering weight. Just like what they'd faced on that dead future Earth, only worse. The faint blue bubble and flaring red light were smashed inward by a planet's worth of grinding mass. No time for a countdown. They didn't _have_ three minutes. Maybe, not even one. Then, everything froze, and fell utterly silent.

John's heart pounded, and his breath came grunting-fast as he crouched there, surrounded by statues. His brothers and Beech… plus the scowling Mechanic… were all frozen in time, along with the raging dust-storm around them, and a cage of shimmering, badly-bent force lines.

He was alive, and so were they, for the one-half heartbeat before a crashing tide of nanites overwhelmed and destroyed them all. Jaeger was present, too, red as a slit-pupiled eye.

"Hey, Buddy," John gasped. Then, switching to German, "Wir nicht haben Zeit fur diese. Wir mussen schnell." _(We don't have time for this. We have to hurry.')_

His friend flickered by way of a nod, answering,

 _"Ja. Countdown komplet."_

John was the only one who saw it all, and later couldn't wholly describe what took place. Tried, though.

The generator chimed once, its soft light briefly illuminating that stasis-locked cloud of rapacious dust. And then, instead of shifting extra mass outward, the altered generator pulled it all in, summoning relativistic Higgs Bosons created by the expansion of spacetime, itself. The alien death-ship quadrupled in mass, then doubled again, twenty times over, while never increasing in size. Jaeger shielded John and the rest as best he could, maintaining that bubble of stasis over them. Some bit of Eos got through, as well, joining her power to that of her fellow A.I.

All he could liken it to was sitting in the back of a car, as it was crushed by a junkyard compacter. All around them, the nanites and ship first crumpled, then began to compress, steamrolled by their own wildly inflated mass.

Somehow, the A.I.s managed to clear and maintain an aisle through that chaos of shattering metal and bending space. Not very wide, and not too long-lasting… but enough to allow five saboteurs to be hurled away from the violently imploding derelict. Just a glimpse of weird other-space John got, and then… well, he didn't quite recall being born, but it must have felt somewhat the same as that wild, crushing passage through darkness.

Driven by an entire universe's worth of hijacked mass, the alien vessel behind them reached its Schwarzschild Radius (about half the size of a pin head) and then ripped itself straight on out of their threatened dimension. Light flowered, like the birth of a brand-new star. Gravity waves shot out in every direction, traveling at the speed of light. They stretched and flexed Mars, restarting its core, and halfway collapsing the base.

Those same gravity waves ripped through Thunderbird 3, causing the shielded rocket to twist and compress, along with the people inside of her. Alan threw up, and Gordon developed an ass-kicking headache, but Charlie had fun; shrieking and laughing like he was on some kind of wild carnival ride. And, hey… vomit in space? Not a good thing. _super_ un-cool.

They'd been headed in, already. Saw the derelict fold up like paper, then begin to compact; crushed ever smaller and redder. The ship and its nanites were vanishing, after all. But, they'd grown so very massive that their gravity hauled at Thunderbird 3 like a sudden black hole. Things might've got ugly (Alan told Piper, once… y'know… they actually _met)_ only then, a tremendous flash of light enveloped them all. The sun rose twice on Mars, that day. A monster plunged out of sight, and five half-conscious, heroic young men floated free.


	29. Chapter 29

Woo-hoo! Puerto Rico came through with my birth certificate, and I got my drivers license! I'm legal! *Does cartwheels, says grateful prayers!* Okay, deep breath, calm again... Thank you for reading and reviewing, guys. Sorry that I've been so crappy and slow at responding; only a few more hurdles to leap. :') Éditéd, thanks!

 **29**

 _In a chaotically settling timeline, with everything changing inside and around them-_

Maybe there was a more helpless feeling than hurtling wildly through space… with rusty Mars, then the distant, pale sun chasing past him in rapid succession… but if so, Scott Tracy wasn't aware of it. Held together by a flickering network of laser-red lines and steel tethers, his team tumbled like dice in a black, giant cup. Weird waves of fading distortion passed through them occasionally; stretching and shrinking whatever they touched. Weird sensation, that, and Scott could hear somebody miserably heavering because of it. Beech, sounded like. Well, at least they appeared to be all still alive, while that alien death-ship had vanished completely; leaving behind it a queasy ripple in space. Like a mid-river standing wave, or something. Like its passing had somehow dented reality.

Sudden release of tension... sort of a _Who-the-h*ll-cares-about-survival? We-did-it!_ …made him grin like a kid with his first new aircar. The scans turned up no dust, at all. Earth, and organic life throughout the universe, was safe. Then, just as he'd sobered up and was about to take a swift headcount, Scott heard Alan's voice over the helmet-comm system; weird, and a little distorted, but definitely Sprout. He was saying,

"Scott, guys, if you're there… if you can hear me… follow this beacon. When you reach the transmitter, press the call button. Mars 'll launch a rescue ship, and I'll get out there myself, before it has time to pick you guys up and turn around. You did it, Bro… just, come back, okay? Be safe." _Message repeats. Stand by:_ "Scott, guys, if you're there…" And, so on.

"That's not good," he heard John mutter, as Kane… not space-suited, but coated with plastic, or something… growled,

"When are we? Guessing your pet A.I. tossed us through time and space both, trying to clear the singularity."

Said Virgil, hauling himself along their tether, so that he could see and read actual faces,

"Al sounds pretty worried, and my wrist comm timer's gone nuts. A couple of days, maybe?"

"Over a month," John corrected, after checking with Jaeger and Eos. "They just called off the search." _Double-plus un-good, in every conceivable way._

Yep, figured Scott, Penny was going to be furious, once she got over her shock… unless some smooth-talker had already pushed his way in to comfort the grieving near-widow. He could see it already, and him barely cold!

"Let's, uh… find that beacon and call in, People," ordered the pilot, all at once worried.

"Way ahead of you, Scott," his astronaut brother replied. "I've contacted Pete." (After first sending a message to Grandma and Captain O'Bannon.) "He's on his way, but my exopod's got some force left, and so does your jetpack. Kane, is yours…?"

"I have thrust, and would rather meet rescue halfway than get snatched up like cargo. You can guarantee immunity from arrest? If not, leave me on Deimos, and I'll make my own way back."

Scott spoke for them all when he said,

"Evan Kane, at his point, anyone who wanted to bust your ass would have to go through me to do it."

"And that ain't happening," finished Virgil, swinging around on his tether.

"We're not friends," cautioned the Mechanic, after a moment.

"Granted," said John, looking away from his busy wrist comm to frown at Kane, hovering sideways some ten feet away. "But we sure as h*ll aren't enemies."

"Not after all _that,_ " agreed Cody Beech, who'd finally got back control of his stomach. There were running lights approaching them, flashing faint red and green against blackness. "I think Typicals call it a 'bonding experience'," finished the chaos-adept.

Scott snorted, watching as the Admiral's personal shuttle grew ever closer; glinting like red and green gems set in burnished silver.

 _"I_ call it 'we owe you one'… and we don't choose to quit this alliance."

The cyborg didn't agree, but he also didn't say no. Instead, working together, Scott, John and Kane used their jetpacks to reduce the spin of their tethered crew; a real challenge, with that many men drifting and bobbing in so many varied directions. Beech, especially, looped and swayed like a kite, being stuck out there on the end.

Nor was it quiet, any longer. Scott's helmet comm was just about overwhelmed with incoming messages from Pete, Alan, Gordon, Dad, Grandma, Penny, Colonel Casey, and all twenty-five licensed reporters. Everyone wanted to talk, but Scott settled for answering someone who should have heard from him _before_ all this madness went down.

"Hey, Hon," he said, picking up Penelope's call. "It's me."

"Scott," she began, then paused, as though struggling for calm and control. "Are you quite alright, Dear?"

"Well, uh… about eighty-five percent, I'd say. All in one piece, but punchy and tired, with one h*ll of a story to tell. Listen, Pen… I'm sorry I didn't send a message before going in there. No excuses, I'm an ass… but I love you, I'm coming home, and I want to marry you. I'll even go talk to your dad, if you'll let me."

Lady Penelope paused for effect, as poised and elegant in her silences as she was in her movements or speech. Then,

"I should be most pleased to accept your proposal of marriage, Mr. Tracy. My father maintains office hours at his London residence, and I am persuaded that he shall be delighted to receive you there."

He was still soaring through space with his brothers, the Mechanic and Beech, like a string of tossed beads; halfway watching McCord try to match their speed and orientation.

"First stop, after the Island, Penny. I promise you."

"I am very glad that all is well, and that you and your brothers are safe, Scott… although all of those planned memorials shall have to be placed on hold, now."

"Memorials?" he blurted, half-laughing. The shuttle's boarding hatch had cycled open, revealing a waiting green airlock.

"Yes, Darling; quite. Your statue, in particular, was to have been most touchingly rendered. You appeared terribly heroic, Dearest."

Scott had the stupid urge to laugh, then, but he quashed it.

"Guess you'll just have to make do with the real thing, Hon," he told her, feeling pretty d*mn good.

"For King and country, needs must," Penny lightly joked back, a small, tender catch in her silken voice.

By this time, the Admiral's shuttle had drawn alongside, moving in such a way that when the five young men hit, it wasn't too hard. Nor did they carrom back off into space, thanks to those well-placed hull grips. Scott caught hold of one and whipped himself 'round so that his boot soles struck metal; the vibration a solid and comfortable thing, after all of that floating around.

Meanwhile, John had been juggling three conversations at once; talking with Pete, O'Bannon and Eos, just about simultaneously. Jaeger simply flared away from his suit and onto the Admiral's Mark IV Starliner; checking it out for possible trouble, or something. In his own mind, and John's, the A.I. had passed two critical tests. Faced with first the Mechanic, then a powerful alien intelligence, he'd remained loyal to the concepts of friendship and trust. He was very much more than a war-machine, now… and maybe not _quite_ so loathsome to Eos.

As Scott flipped himself into the airlock, John maneuvered thrust on his exopod, to follow. The shuttle wasn't huge. He knew that, but it still seemed as solid and big as a planet to him; curving silver and sleek in the twin light of Mars-shine and sun. Had to fold the exopod's wings to get inside.

"You still owe me dinner, Tracy," O'Bannon was saying, now that she'd gotten most of her superior officer crap out of the way.

"It's on the agenda," John told her, making way for Kane. The airlock was a tight fit for three men, much less five, but nobody wanted to wait outside. "I've got to get home, first, and wash up."

Her voice had a soft smile in it as she teased,

"What, a shave and fresh uniform? I won't recognize you, Lieutenant."

"I'll wear a nametag," he promised, adding, "I'll be the one with red hair. Tough to miss."

"Just get here," she answered huskily. "I'll be happy with champagne and caviar, or bean-dip and crackers, as long as you're the one I'm sharing it with. I feel… like I can breathe, again. Like there's more than just work to get up for."

It was weird to think that somebody else besides Eos felt that strongly about him. Odd, and sort of nice. He was used to being needed from a distance; called to, like a stone idol. Cheered for his pitching, by faceless crowds. This was more than that, John realized. It was physical, hormonal, and _together._ O'Bannon had suffered without him, and that was a startling thought.

"I promise not to pull any more dumb-ass stunts for a while," John Tracy said to the woman who loved him. "At least, until the next mega-threat comes along."

"I'll just have to catch you between red-hot emergencies," O'Bannon replied, as Virgil and Cody soared into the crowded compartment. "We'll make a contented homebody out of you, yet, Tracy."

John smiled.

"You're on, Captain," he replied, hitching over almost onto Scott's lap, to make room. "And I'll pick you up for dinner as soon as we've cleared Earth customs and quarantine."

"It's a date," she agreed. "Just give me some time to prepare my crew before you show up. You, um… make quite an impression, Tracy."

Emma Kraft had called Virgil's comm three times, in the meanwhile, and had each time rung off; too angry and torn with relief to speak to him. Nor would she pick up when _he_ called _her._ Just paced the deck of her quarters, alternately cursing and grabbing the phone to stab out his number, again.

Emma had work, and a ship, and her crew; men and women who'd known to give her plenty of space and quiet condolence. Now, a giant, bleeding hole in her heart had just been refilled. She wanted to rage, to cry, to kiss him and shoot him, all at one and the same time.

Her desk, awards, coins and pictures wavered and blurred through a film of tears. She snarled something vile, then jabbed out that number again, and this time managed to grate,

"Shut up. I love you," then slam her phone off, again, breaking its screen. Her nose and green eyes stung, but Emma Kraft, captain of the GDS Union Jack, d*mn well refused to break down.

…and, yes, the rest of their timeline had shifted, in some ways subtly, in other ways not. Scott, John and Virgil Tracy were heroes, coming back to a world not quite the same as they'd left it.


	30. Chapter 30

Well, it isn't over till it's over... and it's not. Too much unresolved stuff going on, too many ideas popping up. Thank you beyond measure for your kind words and encouragement. I find a great deal of fun and escape through writing, and I very much appreciate the chance to share it with others. You are valued. =')

 **30**

 _Under the tortured remnants of Edinburgh, in the stronghold of the Kanes-_

The meeting ended suddenly, for item one… the status of the Tracys… had been resolved, while item two… that alien derelict… was a problem no longer. The death-ship, christened "Apophis" by the media, once word got out, had simply vanished. An incalculable number of lives had just been saved; now, in times to come, and over the known, spreading universe.

Chancellor Shaw and IR would receive most of the credit for this jaw-dropping "rescue", because the Kanes and Beeches did not wish to reveal their involvement. At first, most thought the entire boarding party lost; the Mechanic and Cody, along with all three Tracys. The Specials wanted no thanks. No attention, either.

Jeff and Kayo had been escorted back to the surface by Madame Kane, herself. Others might have come, too, but she forbade them, wishing time alone with the Tracy Colonel. (She wouldn't call him "Jeff", though.) In her own way, the sleek, shining cyborg was an attractive woman, though he couldn't see how you'd go about… well… sealing the deal, so to speak. Hardly mattered, anyhow, because he wasn't over Lucy; maybe never would be.

At the bare concrete room which led outside, Madame Kane paused. Before she keyed open its warded steel door, the machine-woman turned and said,

"The family of cyborgs is not large, Colonel Tracy, but it is very well linked. When one of us perishes, all know it. When one is somehow cut off, we know that, as well."

Her unnaturally lovely face did not express emotion well, being half metal and plastic. Her electronic voice sounded sad, though.

"One of mine has become 'un-linked'… but I sensed no death. Perhaps, Tracy, they yet live. All of them."

Jeff managed a brief smile for the honey-skinned cyborg.

"We're a tough breed, Ma'am. I'd put Scott, John and Virgil against anything out there, and bet on them all coming through. Your boy and young Beech, too." Something deep inside of him was clenched tight as a fist, but he wouldn't show it. He might have said more, but all at once, Madame Kane seemed to just freeze, along with Tanusha. Noises slowed like syrup, dropping in pitch and speed till it all sounded like one jumbled bass choir… and a man popped into sight from midair.

Just below average height, and slender, he had longish, pale brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and a narrow, sharp-featured face. His eyes were dark and wary, as though he half expected attack. That would have been tough to arrange, as he alone moved freely through the sudden syrup that their air had turned into.

"Tracy," he began, a little uncertainly. "I will not detain you long. I am Victor Dos Santos, head of a family smaller than yours, now. A young child wandered away from us and was stolen, some time ago. We had believed him destroyed at the hands of your 'WorldGov'…" The way he spat that term was indescribably hate-filled and bitter. "…but it seems that one of your people has found him, instead."

Jeff waited. Not talking, because it was hard enough just to draw a deep breath of that dense, heavy air, much less speak aloud. Did manage to nod understanding, though. Dos Santos went on, saying,

"Are you able to guarantee his safety, Colonel Tracy? If Anton remains with your breed, as the Kyrano, there, did… will he be sheltered from those who hunt us?"

Speaking with difficulty, the astronaut replied,

"We protect… whoever needs us… Dos Santos. Can't think of many… safer places… than Tracy Island. Why I… chose it." Glanced at Tanusha, then. His little Princess, grown up to become a fierce and lovely young woman. "He'll be cared for… and loved."

And then, just like that, everything switched back to normal. Sounds sped back up and resumed their usual pitch, and the air turned thin, once more. Standing beside him in that blinding-bright room, the women blinked their surprise.

"Dad!" Kayo shouted, lunging at him, as Jeff gasped like a landed trout. "What happened?! Are you alright?!"

"Fine," he grunted, watching Madame Kane run scans of their premises.

"Time shift," she murmured, in her flat, electronic voice. "Dos Santos was here, but has left. No business of mine, but if he wishes his son back, I would comply, Colonel. Time-benders cannot be trusted. They are subtle and dangerous folk."

…hunted nearly to death, she didn't add. Jeff shook his worried daughter off like a dog shedding water; he wasn't ready for the wheelchair and rocker, _yet,_ dammit. Then, he said to the beautiful cyborg,

"Looks like the family just got bigger, actually. One of my sons seems to have picked up a stray."

Madame Kane didn't get the reference, but she smiled slightly, anyhow. Reaching forward, she then brushed the back of Jeff's hand with the tip of her forefinger, raising a slight, stinging weal.

Colonel Tracy jerked the injured member away, feeling startled and slightly betrayed. With Kayo on high alert, there might have been trouble. Only, the cyborg said,

"My price for your admission to full status, Tracy. Your genome shall be added to ours, for my people have grown too closely related. Your family will soon 'get bigger', indeed."

Jeff opened his mouth, and then shut it again; just really d*mn glad that Jake Tracy had seen fit to marry a regular woman, and stay part of the world. Inbreeding and isolation did terrible things.

"Right," he said, pointedly ignoring Tanusha, whose shoulders trembled with suppressed laughter. "Send me pictures of the kids."

Madame Kane gestured, and the room's outer door slid open onto their force-shielded landing strip. Part machine, herself, she both shifted position, breathed and buzzed like an electric transformer.

"Go now," she told him. "The ghost in this shell senses that our offspring yet live, Colonel Tracy… and that we will meet one another again, very shortly."

Thinking, _'Not if I see you, first,'_ Jeff defaulted to good manners. Beneath the rough speech and often flippant exterior, he was a gentleman.

"Yes, Ma'am. Looking forward to it. You take care, now."

Then, the astronaut seized Kayo's arm, and fairly dragged her outside. That door couldn't shut fast enough to suit Jeffery K. Tracy. They stood on the cracked concrete stoop for almost five minutes, till their vision returned to normal. Felt like stepping from day-side Mercury to Goddam Pluto. As details began to appear, and headaches to fade, Jeff and his daughter started forward. The big, camouflage force bubble was still in place, blocking a night of lashing rain and cold wind; a night of ghosts and shadows.

"Wait," said Kayo, green eyes gone suddenly wide. "Does this make the Mechanic my _brother,_ or something?"

"No," snapped Jeff, stalking across the damp tarmac for Thunderbird Shadow.

"But, now you're…"

"No."

End of subject, and the sooner forgotten, less mentioned, the better. Thunderbird Shadow sprang to life at their approach; systems warming, canopy opening upward with a faint whirr.

"Home?" Kayo enquired, leaping up and into her waiting Bird. But Jeff shook his head, no.

"The Reservation," he corrected her. "I'm not leaving Zara behind. Don't trust our friends in high places farther than I can throw them, and we may need Penny and Parker, soon."

Vaulting into the cockpit behind her, Jeff added,

"Fly low and stay cloaked, Princess. Our allies already know where to look for us, and no one else needs to find out where we've gone."

"Yes, Sir," Tanusha replied, as that force shield dropped away like a cloud, and Thunderbird Shadow went dark. "Hold on tight, Dad. I'm going to punch it."

She, too, had a lot to think about; from missing brothers to Captain Rigby to Nikorr Kyrano, who might be the man of her dreams… or not. Add to all that her just-strip-mined family genetics (because, dammit, she _was_ a heart-and-soul Tracy) and that was a very tense, quiet ride south.

XXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 3, in space, near Mars-_

Okay, so literally, the alien ship and its plumes of nanite dust had just crunched up like a gum-wrapper, and then blinked right out of existence. Yay, right? Only… Scott, John and Virgil had still been aboard, along with the Mechanic, and that Cody guy.

Now, some five minutes later, Alan was still hitting the comm, calling for his brothers. Blue eyes wide and concerned, the young astronaut had to fight to keep sheer, trembling panic out of his squeaky voice.

Space, where the derelict had punched through, was all…. ripple-y, or something. Powerful gravity waves and time-shifts burst from the area, bending and stretching his comm signals

"Scott? It's me, Alan. Pick up, okay, Guys? This isn't funny."

Not that anyone was laughing, anymore. Even Charlie had gone all big-eyed and serious, staring at the bruised and rippling spot like he was seeing something they couldn't.

"They in there, somewhere, Big Guy?" Gordon asked the boy, who clung with one hand to his yellow sash. Floating beside the muscular aquanaut, Charlie shook his head.

"They jumpted, Gordon," he responded. Might have been just a trick of the shifting light levels, but the kid looked younger than he had. More seven than ten, now.

Meanwhile, Mars hung sullen and rusted before them, issuing streams of escape ships and darting Interceptors, for Olympus Mons and her sisters had awakened at last. A vast cloud of smudge-grey ash erupted from the volcanoes' high peaks, blotting out half of the western hemisphere.

"That's gonna leave a mark," Gordon muttered. Then, back to the question at hand, the swimmer asked, "Did they go far?"

Charlie's small face screwed up in thought. Time was not a fixed concept for him… for any Dos Santos… so the question was tough to respond to.

"They gone up long," he explained at last, peering closely at Gordon's scruffy face to be sure that he hadn't said the wrong thing. The answering hug and hair-muss was reassurance enough to content young Charlie, who soon returned to his video game.

Alan was going nuts in the meantime, trying to contact their brothers and Kane. Got no answer but static and glowering Mars.

"Give it a rest, Al," Gordon told him, reaching across to clasp the pilot's shoulder. "They're gonna be gone for awhile, but it's okay." Probably. "They'll be back." Sooner, or maybe much later. "We need to tell Grandma what's happened, then leave a beacon, and help get those folks off of Mars. Scans show all kinds of sh… crap going on at the core." In a quieter voice, he added, "They knew the risks, just like we do, and Pete needs a hand, down there."

Alan Tracy blinked a few times, swallowed hard, and nodded. If there was a single, defining moment when the youngest Tracy finally grew up, it was right then and there, in the cockpit of Thunderbird 3. In a scratchy, hoarse voice, he commed,

"Mars Base, from International Rescue. We're coming down to help with evac. Get your remaining people lined up, and we'll take them off in lots, fifty at a time."

"Roger that, Thunderbird 3," McCord replied, adding, "Thank you."

Because, what else could anyone say?


	31. Chapter 31

Hey, again! :) A little bit more, before Monday. FFN won't let me respond to reviews, for some reason, but thank you, Tikatu, Bow Echo, Thunderbird Shadow and Whirl Girl! Edits managed.

 **31**

 _Tracy Island, a short time earlier-_

As though a bubble had popped, or a stretched rubber-band had snapped loose, something sudden and total had just taken place. Sally Tracy stood before that swirling blue comm globe, in an all at once quieter room. She had the odd and confusing sensation that people and matters had changed, but couldn't be sure of which way.

Looking around at the ring, she saw that Max was present, with Brains, Captain Rigby and Lee Taylor, but that… that… somebody else? Many someones? …had vanished. Also, the main room looked tidier than it ought to have.

Doctor Hackenbacker, too, seemed unsettled; gazing around with a troubled expression, for someone he'd just been talking to. On the shimmering globe, meanwhile, that alien vessel had shrunk to near invisibility, then winked out of sight, causing fast-spreading tremors in spacetime. Distance and events would be disordered for weeks to come, with no one quite sure what happened when, or what situations might have provoked them (because under stress, time could flow sideways, too; allowing causes from one worldline to trigger effects in a far-distant other).

Worse than all that, Sally's three oldest grandsons had disappeared beyond kenning. The icons for Scott, John and Virgil had cut off, leaving only their wireframe outlines. She had barely reacted to _that,_ when a flood of distress calls hit them, from Mars. Not just Olympos Mons, but the other huge Martian volcanoes… Arsia, Pavonis and Ascraeus… had roared to wild life. Now they shook the ground, and filled the pink sky above with ash and explosions of blistering steam. Colonists, explorers and artifact miners were all at risk; some of them with no way off planet.

Pushing her fears for the older boys to the back of her mind, Sally Tracy settled her glasses more firmly up the bridge of her nose, cleared her throat, and said,

" 'Pears we got work to do, Boys. Gordon n' Alan can't handle that mess by themselves." Turning to Lee, Rigby and Brains, she continued with, "Doctor Hackenbacker, that prototype o' yours…"

The slim engineer stepped forward, nervously brushing at his lab coat.

"Is, as one m- might put it, 'iffy', but, ah… but r- ready for testing, Mrs. Tracy."

Captain Taylor cracked a swift, mirthless smile.

"Trial by fire, huh, Doc? Well, anythin' you build, I c'n fly better. You, me, Riggins n' Mike, here, 'll go pick them folks up outta danger. Find Spencer, Jase n' Vic, too, while we're at it."

Max extended his camera mast, lifting his plastic 'head' proudly higher, and chirping a fast stream of beeps. He was ready to go, already contacting the prototype's systems. Sally nodded, then leaned over to kiss Taylor's unshaven and scratchy right cheek.

"You boys be careful, out there," she told them. "Get th' job done, but don't be sowing no more grief for a body. Folk 'll be waiting on ya ta come home safe."

Her blue eyes were wet, but her head erect, as she turned back to answer two urgent calls, pinging hot on the Island's private line. One was from Gordon, in Thunderbird 3, the other… from someplace called Wavey World, out in New Cali?

Captain Taylor gave Sally a quick embrace, and then left her to it, heading off with Max and Brains to suit up. They'd launch in twenty minutes… or ten, or thirty… depending on passing distortions. But get there, they would; loaded for bear, and ready for action.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _The Luddite Reservation, in Britain's beautiful Lake District-_

Zara Herringford-Smith had risen early and made friends quickly, because that was her nature. She'd always been a remarkably fortunate, happy girl, with a life just adventurous enough. With a mum who loved her, and a sometimes available, business-executive dad. No 'someone special', though. Not yet. Only now, she'd fallen in with International Rescue, was actually speaking with Lady Penelope, her mysterious driver, and… oh, best of all… Sherbert! She'd even met Colonel Tracy and Clarence, her Ladyship's charmingly feckless young brother. No internship could have been better than this.

Now she was here, amid the gentle green fells and clear tarns of the Reservation, with mighty Skiddaw looming before her. Already, she'd seen curious red squirrels, bold sheep, wild ponies and gruff, wary people. Rain and wind had misted in a few times, but there was shelter beneath the tall oaks, and in Keswick's small guest house. There was an ancient stone ring, as well; pre-conflict. Zara would have snapped pictures, but by local law her phone was off, its battery removed and placed in the local chieftain's safekeeping.

Instead, the girl wandered about with Lady Penelope and Parker; sampling oatcake farls, cheeses and ale, and playing a bit with the children. They were delightful scamps, who'd never watched TV or heard a radio broadcast, and thought of play as something one engaged in through kicking a ball, or with some much-loved and patched plush toy.

"How extraordinary," she murmured to Penny, watching shrieking, half-naked children dash in and out of placid Derwent Water. "They seem to be thriving, Milady, without any sort of technology!"

"I should go barking mad, directly," Penelope whispered back, hugging tightly to Sherbert, who wriggled and yipped in response. "Fancy not knowing upon the instant, what they've decided to wear in Paris or Bonn? How should one contrive to remain at the forefront of style and glamour?" She was, after all, a much sought-after fashion model. Constant public attention was as vital to Penny as water and air.

Zara looked about them at people (primitive, to be sure, but quite content with their lot) who were dressed in whatever made sense, and ate what was natural.

"It seems perfectly charming to me, Milady. I believe I should love to visit here, again. If, well…" There was someone to visit here _with,_ she did not finish, aloud. Her heart had grown lonelier, recently; her body beginning rather to yearn. But for whom, she had no idea, as yet. The thought made her blush like a schoolgirl, so it was quite a welcome development, when Thunderbird Shadow ghosted in over Skiddaw like a giant raven, making just about as much noise.

The Luddite children pointed and gaped. Aircars did not fly over the reservation, and visitors were few. As FAB-1 had arrived in the night and immediately plunged itself deep into Derwent Water, they'd not seen such a sight, in all their short, sheltered lives.

"Mummy!" shrieked a small, dark boy, hopping madly up and down on the strand. "A dragon!"

The local Eorl got his folk under cover, then stood glowering beside Penny, Parker and Zara as yet _another_ invader came down from above, bringing with it a short surge of deeply painful electromagnetic disturbance.

Thunderbird Shadow did not settle, respecting the Reservation's laws as much as possible. Instead, the sleek black aircraft hovered in place, about five meters over the lake shore. The canopy caught midmorning sunlight as it lifted open. Then Colonel Tracy put his head out and waved.

"Heartland! Everyone!" he shouted in his deep and powerful voice, before signaling Kayo to seal up and move on, again.

Penelope nodded, lifting a slender hand in response. As Thunderbird Shadow lifted up and away, the burly Eorl shifted his stance to frown at his guests.

"You'll be leaving, then?" he challenged.

Penelope gave him a smile and brisk nod. He was, after all, local nobility; however far fallen. Courtesy to a peer was a matter of course.

"We shall, indeed, Lord Dunstan. Many thanks, for allowing us to remain these few hours; a visit we shall never forget, I assure you." Then, turning back to her waiting driver, "Parker?"

"Yes, Milady," he responded, stoic as ever, despite a cap-snatching back-blast from Shadow. One of the Luddite children brought the hat back. Cheeky tyke held out for a stick of gum, before he'd hand the precious, beat-up old topper back again, though. Penelope carried on as though nothing had happened; serene as a ship in full sail.

"Do bring the car 'round, Parker. We shall be setting off again, presently."

"Yes, Milady. Shall h-I pop off t' th' guvnor's place, h-and take back our batteries?"

Penelope made a slight, thoughtful moue with her lips.

"Perhaps someone had better, at that. There may be spares in the car, but I should rather not chance it. Zara, dear, be a love and fetch our things, would you? Batteries, purses, and such-like?"

"Yes, Milady," the girl replied, a bit breathless with finely-stretched hope. "Shall I be coming, as well?"

Lady Penelope cocked a slim golden eyebrow, before handing Bertie over.

"Of course," she responded, seeming amused by the question. "Whom else do you suppose the Colonel meant, when he said 'everyone'? These Luddites? However should we press them all into the car?"

Zara giggled, then swiftly controlled herself, and bobbed a quick nod. Bertie _would_ keep licking her face as she said,

"Yes, Milady. Back in less than a trice."

Let 'Heartland' be ever so far and exotic. She, Zara H-S, was off to explore the unknown; heart pounding, hopes mounting higher than Skiddaw or Scafell. She'd have to tell mum first, of course, but that could surely be managed. Like a shot, Zara was off to the guest house, ready for whatever life had to offer her, next.


	32. Chapter 32

Hi, guys! Been working on this chapter as time, work, the on-going document battle and a bad cold would let me. Gotta love escaping into the Tracy-verse. ;) Edited!

 **32**

 _Thunderbird Shadow, flying over the American Territories, headed far westward-_

Even on Earth, those distortions were causing rampant confusion, altering the setting on Kayo's fuel gauge, and the position of the sun, in rolling waves. Played havoc with her comm, too, as she got a few answers before she'd sent any messages. For awhile, there, cause and effect were no more than loosely connected, and Tanusha didn't much care for all the resulting chaos.

Her father, Jeff Tracy, sat behind her in the rear seat, trying to contact a few trusted GDF associates. He was quite busy. Kayo kept her mouth shut and flew; taking comfort in guiding her sleek, dark Bird from sea to shining sea. Had to use landmarks, rather than her glitchy nav system, which relied too much on those weirdly distorted GPS signals.

The land streaming below was a scarred and barren no-go zone, but there were pockets of habitability, like Quebec, Wyoming, Colorado, Texas and New Cali. Once, the whole landmass had teemed with residents… or, so she'd been told. Tough to imagine, as most old news clips and videos had been long since tracked down and destroyed. For everyone's good, they'd been assured; like population control and their enforced mono-culture.

Tanusha crossed a blistered continent, staying cloaked and flying low. The familiar engine noise and vibration, her own constant visual instrument scans, helped to make up for a dancing Sun and sudden, wild clock changes.

Part of her mind was elsewhere, though; probing, then recoiling from, all that she'd learnt back in Edinburgh. She'd known all along that she was adopted. That something awful had happened to her father and mother, whom she barely remembered. Their last act had been to hide her from robot assassins, until Jeff Tracy and Lee Taylor had arrived to lift her out of that scan-shielded hole. She'd been too traumatised to respond to questions, or speak at all. Her last memory had been her mother's frantic mental command: _Hush, Tanusha! Not a sound, not a move!_

…and then the noise, loss and feel of her whole world being violently torn apart and extinguished. That warmth and presence which was Momma and Papa just… gone.

Colonel Tracy had brought home a silent, stunned little shell, to a family still reeling from the loss of his wife and their mother. Perhaps, they'd healed each other. John had especially taken to the little girl, because his suddenly angry and rebellious older brother had rejected him and everyone else. With Dad often away and Grandma taken up caring for Alan, Gordon and Virgil, John had found solace in tending someone as deeply, silently hurt as _he_ was. Her nine-year-old brother, in his patient and logical fashion, had brought her back to life.

The sight of red-golden hair in sunshine, the flavour of a shared peanut butter sandwich, the noise of spinning bicycle wheels, and a particular "John" scent, were locked in there, forever. Still made her smile. He and Dad were the first things she'd learnt to love after having her parents brutally torn from contact. Killed, in her mental "sight".

They were a close and loving bunch, the Tracys. Even whilst trying to recover from their own private tragedy, they'd accepted Tanusha Kyrano, and raised her as one of their own. They _were_ her family, and none of Nikorr's disgust and contempt could shake her deep sense of belonging.

And yet, there was something darkly attractive about the handsome young man. He was not at all like Rigby or John… but he drew her. Since encountering him, some of her own blocked power had begun to return.

She did not have to reach back to feel her father, silently cursing the balky government comm system. More, a sort of thin, wordless thread now connected her mind with Nikorr Kyrano's; as alluring and hazardous as open flame. He was there, now. Maybe forever. Deeply stunning, to think that there were others like her. Not just the vile Hood, or Momma and Papa, who'd been killed at her uncle's instigation.

There was… a spot, like a bruise in her mind, now vacated. Had the Hood been there, all along, watching? Had he looked through her eyes at Scott's careful plans? At Brains' freshest tech? If so, she'd been his well-planted spy, deliberately left in place among the Tracys.

Kayo felt her gloved hands clench on Shadow's controls at the thought. Her heart pounded, hard. All at once, the girl very much needed John, or Rigby… or Nikorr Kyrano. Only, the first was missing _(not_ dead, just dislocated, but still causing echoes) while the last was dangerous. So, Wayne Rigby… adorably awkward and formal… tall, blond and halfway-handsome… was her only refuge from stabbing thoughts of her own unwilling treachery.

Biting her lip, Tanusha Kyrano flew westward; every mile bringing her closer to home, and a young Marine captain who was about to get more than he'd bargained for.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, at the ring-_

Sally had taken Gordon's call first, of course, shunting the other one off to a hold line. A good thing, too, because her Tadpole had some (fingers crossed and say a Hail Mary) good news.

"They're not dead, Grandma… just pushed forward in time. The distortions are even worse over here…" (As she could tell, because some of the swimmer's words were stretched like taffy, while others bunched up mosquito-whine quick.) "… and when that ship disappeared, they caught a tidal wave, sort of. They'll be back. Charlie says so."

"Charlie?" Grandma echoed, squinting past Gordon's glowing blue holo at a thin pair of neck-wrapped arms and half an anxiously peeking face.

"That's Gramma?" she heard someone whisper, while Alan snapped commands in the background.

"Yeah, Buddy," Gordon responded, ruffling somebody's floating brown hair. "That's Grandma. She's awesome. You'll like her a lot." Then, once more addressing Sally, "Charlie's mine, Grandma. My kid. Charles Anthony Godwin Tracy… only, sometimes, he can't pronounce 'Godwin' very well. I signed all the papers, on Mars."

Sally's blue eyes widened. A child? A _great-grandchild?_ Coming to Tracy Island? Just when they most needed a blessing? She smiled, tearing up a bit, before once more regaining control. And then, just as she had fifteen years earlier, Grandma Tracy grunted,

"Well, I guess we got us another mouth ta feed. Hope he plans ta pull his weight, around here. I ain't runnin' no dang resort hotel."

Somehow, Gordon kept the grin off his face (and mostly out of his voice) saying,

"Understood, Grandma. Charlie 'n me 'll handle the dishes for a whole week, I _promise."_

"Hunh!" she snorted. "Believe that when I see it! Just get them folks rescued off'n Mars, and come back safe with my great-grandson. We ain't been properly introduced, yet."

Meanwhile, that call-waiting signal was flashing, still, from the desk. On the Island's coded private line, from somewhere out in New Cali, it had to be urgent.

"Gordon, I gotta go," she said to her sandy-blond, smiling grandson. "Keep us posted regular, and don't do nothin' I wouldn't do, y' hear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded, as a sliver more of that curious, sweet, brown-eyed face peeked around at her. "Will do. Love you. Thunderbird 3, _out."_

Awash in a whirlpool of swirling and jumbled emotions, Sally stalked out of the ring to catch that beeping, flashing desk line. The prototype had already launched, or soon would, depending on where they were, in those spreading distortions. The Sun (best ignored) kept slipping back and forth in that jewel-blue sky; making progress in odd, bird-like darts. Drive a body clear around the bend, if you spent too much time looking at it, so she didn't.

"Island Base, Sally Tracy speaking," she said, taking the call Vox-only. No sense letting anyone know that she was mostly alone in the house. "What's your emergency?"

A quite young, partway familiar voice came on the line, raised a bit over crowd noise, theme music and calming announcements.

"Mrs. Tracy? It's Caleb Gonzalez, Ma'am. I'm not sure if you can still remember me, but I'm part of the International Rescue New Crew. The GDF got us together when… because…" His voice, too, was time-rippled, but also strained with tense emotion. "Well, I'm not sure anymore, why they did it… but we were there when the crystal jumped to the future, second time, and I went along for the trip."

Another call lit up her queue, this one from a WorldGov launch facility in Queensland, Australia. It, too, was privately coded. Lieutenant Commander Sheffield? Like Caleb Gonzalez, the name stirred faint mental echoes.

"What I'm trying to say is, Ma'am, do you need any help, over there? I'm fully trained in swimming, flying, CPR and first aid, and… and I'm a frickin' _amazing_ cook."

In her mind's eye, Sally could almost see a freckled, friendly, dark-haired young man, standing with… well, someone who wouldn't quite come into focus. Someone missing in time, like her three oldest boys.

To Caleb, she quite sensibly said,

"I ain't got time f'r no guessin' games, Boy. If y'r supposed ta be here, get y'r tail on the next plane ta New Zealand, then catch a drone-flight on over. I'll give my say-so, and arrange tickets. Bring y'r cookbook. Got another call waiting. Island Base, out."

She cut him off in the midst of his,

"Yes, Ma'am, thank…"

And then picked up the other line, busy as a barmaid on Free-beer-and-kisses Night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Meanwhile-_

The state-controlled media were doing their best to control spiraling rumours. As news flooded in from Mars and the asteroid colonies, people began to whisper that, had Apophis reached Earth, only a select few would have been saved. That the impactor had not been a rogue asteroid, at all, but a targeted death-ship, and that only the swift and sacrificial actions of International Rescue had saved their world from destruction.

It was a public relations nightmare for the World Government, although Chancellor Shaw himself somehow emerged as a hero; especially when he produced plans to shift the populace underground, to the old network of bomb shelter caverns. Repeatedly emphasizing his connections to IR and their beloved Colonel Tracy, the Chancellor succeeded in shifting suspicion away from himself and onto the World Council. A true survivor, Sebastian Shaw actually strengthened his own position by harnessing public outrage.

Elsewhere, the Hood's time-locked body had slipped down through a crevasse in the south pole of Mars, plunging at last into a sea of lightless and densely briny water. There, he would have died, for the young Dos Santos' grip had been a panicked, rushed affair, and eventually faded. Only, something found him, first. A sort of drifting wisp. A pale, greenish remnant of beings once mighty and numerous. Almost a phantom, it was, with one particular and very frightening power; it could completely restore and repair whatever it touched or inhabited, turning its host indestructible.

Sinking down through that frigid, toxic slush, the Hood opened eyes suddenly much greener than they had been, and smiled.


	33. Chapter 33

'Allo! Bit more, before I get back to work. Thank you, Tikatu, Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Whirl Girl and Thunderbird Shadow, for reading and reviewing. You're the best. :)

 **33**

 _Mars Base, down-planet-side:_

As the red world convulsed, its inhabitants scattered and fled like ants disturbed at their raiding; some this way, some that, past shattering domes and collapsing structures. The underground launch-prep cavern had a giant crack in its roof, and a floor so badly buckled that nothing could roll, or much hover.

Olympos, Ascraeus, Pavonis and Arsia had opened their throats once again, shaking the ground like a snapped blanket between them. The crust itself was slipping, as those massive, unbalanced volcanoes dragged the whole landscape southward.

Lava, ash and steam blasted forth, rising much higher and spreading farther than would have been possible on Earth. Underground ice dams disintegrated, sending toxic water to the surface in huge, geyser-like plumes. Mars awoke from a billion years of frozen, mummified sleep, with a noise that deepened from screech to roar, as the atmosphere gradually thickened.

The sky had gone from clear pink to smoggy and ash-stippled blood; dropping howling lava bombs and giant boulders on the shuddering landscape below. Violet lightning flashed from the roiling tower of ash above Mount Olympos, its thunder ringing sharp as a gunshot. Mud flows and crashing floods sluiced along channels that had lain barren and dry for time beyond reckoning. Mars was awake.

Ships took off with little plan or direction, as freighter captains weren't inclined to wait for permission to leave, and worried more about cargo than people. On the bright side, evacuation had already been in progress, because of that oncoming alien death-ship. Order of launch was screwed up, though, as time and gravity waves continued to rocket through space. Down to thirty-minute changes, now, from weeks or months. That was something.

Admiral McCord was still on base, because… dammit… he wouldn't go before every last one of his people was safe. And, even then, he'd be the first man back.

The Base Commander stalked from hangar to control center and living quarters, urging the Martians to _'f*cking_ _move_ _!'_ Twice, he nearly got caught and smashed by a cave-in, but time-shifts and Captain Hesse saved his life. Saw himself go past from the side, once, crossing an intersection, and remarked,

"D*mn, that's one good-looking fella! Bet he's a real bastard, though."

…which made his officers laugh. Thunderbird 3 arrived as he was getting his next lot of refugees to the rumbling surface. The giant red rocket slid down from that sullen sky on a gout of shimmering flame, attracting miles-long spears of wild lightning.

Pete lifted a hand in greeting. He had his dark-green helmet and spacesuit on, but felt exposed, anyhow. Like the buildings and launch facilities, Martian survival gear had not been designed with geologic upheaval in mind. One bad-luck rock could ruin his day, permanently.

"Admiral," he heard, over the comm. "This is Alan Tracy, aboard Thunderbird 3. We're landing at the drone launch pad. The prototype isn't far behind. We can take forty aboard for drop-off at Asteroid-1, and Captain Taylor can pick up the rest, Sir."

 _"Taylor?!"_ Pete exploded, adding, "Oh, _h*ll,_ no! No way I'm riding with that drunk, disease-curdled sonuvabitch! That mutant clap he picked up on Proxima's eaten up half his brain! He'll fly us right into a mountain!"

"Wisht all o' them Martian refugees was as pint-sized and loud as their d*mn commander," drawled a new voice, from a vessel just reaching orbit. "They'd be easy ta find and quick ta pack. Fit three o' them little squirts in a single seat."

Pete snorted.

"What d'you know… He actually made it! Someone else must be flying, or else that drink-pickled medical test-subject finally worked out the controls. There _is_ a God."

…at which point, they both started laughing, freeing the frozen, huge-eyed base personnel to smile, too. Alan and Gordon just shook their heads, being far too familiar with the antics of McCord, Taylor and Tracy to take that crap seriously. Charlie picked up a few new words, though.

"Listen, Chip," said Al to the boy, who was strapped into the copilot's seat with Gordon. "If you can speed us up compared to everything else coming down out of the sky, we can maybe get those people off-planet, without being nailed by a boulder. Can you do that?"

The young time-bender took a moment to process the request, before nodding uncertainly. He very much wanted to please, and would have said 'yes', anyhow… only, Gordon had told him to tell the truth, and not to worry they might get mad.

"I could do… yeah, I could do that. But maybe not a long way. They gotsa be close, okay? Tell 'em be close." He was anxious; afraid to see Alan's expression, in case the 'other brother' was mad at him. But Gordon's big hand squeezed his shoulder, twice. Their secret signal: _okay._ Once, long, meant: _NO._

The yellow-hair pilot nodded and smiled. He was part of 'teamwork', too. Gordon said so.

"We'll make it work, Chip. Do your thing. Gords, you got this?"

The aquanaut was already unstrapping to rise, reaching for his own helmet, and Charlie's (picked up on Mars Base, where children sometimes went out on field trips).

"We're on it, Al. Hold the fort."

They'd put down by this time, on a cracked and tilting concrete pad, barely large enough for 3's massive engine nacelles. Well, they'd landed on worse, in the course of several previous, very dangerous space rescues. Gordon took extra care going down ramp, reaching up to help his kid clamber down, too.

Something up high caught his attention, as they reached the surface. The silvery prototype, glinting like a star in the boiling skies above. Also the Sun, sliding sideways. Which… yeah, was a sight Gordon Tracy would never forget.

Out of a bruised and bloody sky, great chunks of blazing rock first slowed, then halted completely; hanging suspended in Charlie's fierce grip. (That he'd slipped holding Havok and Fuse, no one had realized, yet. Not even Charlie.)

Elsewhere, lava bombs, ash and boulders continued to fall. Just, not in a quarter-mile magic circle centered on Thunderbird 3. The whistle and crump of cascading stone… the hiss of exploding volcanoes… fell silent. Nearby, anyhow.

With gravity, Charlie could stand up, but he hung onto one of the loops on Gordon's tool belt, because it made him feel safer, and because that was the most person he wanted to help, in case stuff kept on happening, like always. He got bigger again, too, stretching the pay-suit.

Charlie could see and feel time like a blanket; something he could bunch up close, fold, or fling outward… but, not all the time. Had to _ask_ , first… 'cept for "emergies". Sometimes, he could take someone off the blanket, all the way… but Gordon said don't do that unless they were bad, like doctors. People ran forward, pointing at a sky that looked like red jelly with grapes in, if the grapes were real hot.

Meanwhile, Lee had been searching for somewhere to land. The prototype was much larger than Thunderbird 3, which was all bang, no payload. The new Bird required a broader, more stable surface. Like the rocket, she could put down vertically, but needed a whole lot more réal estate to do it in.

Circling the base, he spotted a frantically blinking green light, about the same time that Max issued a long, worried beep. Banking hard, Taylor said,

"Looks like we got us some refugees tryin' ta reach base, folks. Might hafta put off kickin' Pete's ass a while longer." Then, as Brains turned pale and clutched at his armrests, "You okay, Doc? You don't look so good."

"I am f- fine, C- C- Captain! Please attend to, ah… to y- your flying!" McCord's joking slander had done nothing at all for Brains' confidence.

A wide grin split Taylor's rugged, mustached face. Winking at Captain Rigby (who hadn't wanted to stay safe at home) he said,

"Relax, Doc… I been flyin' since I was old enough ta see over th' instrument panel. Sat on my daddy's lap, afore that. Ain't th' plane or ship built _yet,_ that could get one up on Lee Cooper Taylor. Now, stop pissin' y'rself, an' enjoy the ride!"

For some reason, Brains was not reassured, though Max chirped an exultant whistle, while Rigby… back in crew seating… masked a laugh with some well-faked coughing. Lee was starting to like that Marine, though honor demanded that he drink the man under the table, beat him at cards, and whup his ass at least once.

Grinning broadly, Taylor gave the engineer an encouraging pat, then set to work tracking down that signal, twisting and banking, sometimes almost at ninety degrees to the horizon, in order to dodge incoming boulders and lava. New Bird handled just fine, _he_ figured. Rigby and Max agreed, although Brains was too busy retching to comment.

Their search took the Prototype to the mouth of a broad valley, about five miles south of the base. Its rocky delta spread like a fan in the plain below, just barely smooth enough for a landing. Lee slowed down on impellers and thrust. (A real skill, in this wafer-thin atmosphere.) Came down right in front of those jumping and waving refugees, who were flashing the lights of their ground car, and probably beeping the horn. Hard to tell, with the noise of that unshielded hull.

Lee unstrapped and debarked in a hurry, because the ground was unstable; a long crack starting to meander its way through the plain, like stony lightning. With him went Rigby and Max, in case somebody needed assistance getting aboard. Brains remained in the cockpit, minding the store.

Ten people, it turned out to be. Six jammed with their dog in a rough-terrain crawler, with more of them clinging like ticks to the top and sides. The driver, a hard-bitten colonist with a deep Mars tan and blue eyes, shook hands and said,

"Roy Masters, Elysium Reach."

"Lee Taylor, International Rescue. This is Wyatt Riggins, a Goddam Marine stowaway, disguisin' hisself as a guverment bean-counter, and that there's Mike, our backup. Need a lift?"

The colonist smiled, looking relieved.

"Thanks for the assist, Sir," he said, as his family and friends rushed up the ramp, four of them hefting the sealed dog crate. A great dane, looked like. "Took as many as I could, once that evac order went out, but there's more coming behind us. Please don't leave yet. They're my neighbors, from down in Dry Fells. They're coming."

"Ain't leavin' nobody," Lee assured him, clasping the man's work-broadened shoulder. "Pile on in, an' we'll go hunt 'em up."

Because that's what International Rescue stood for. That's what they did.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Thunderbird 3, in a certain, very crowded equipment locker-_

Havok gasped her way back to consciousness, with a splitting headache and bloodied nose, to find herself wrapped with elastic cords and crushed by her hulking brother. They were in some sort of closed, dimly-lit space, and Fuse weighed a fekkin' metric tonne, he did. The brown-haired girl gave him a sudden rough shove, snarling,

 _"Urf!_ Geroff, you big ape! Shift y'r mass!"

Their purple Chaos Crew armour added to their bulk, but their implants allowed them to snap the bonds like rotten thread. Paul stretched as well as he could in the tiny locker, yawning and scratching at his tight, bleached cornrows.

"Wotcher, Evie," he said with a sleepy smile.

"It's _Havok,_ sh*te-for-brains. Now, come on, we 'ave t' get movin'!"

"Wot 'appened?" he asked her, genially enough.

Havok's blue eyes narrowed in wrath and disgust.

"That kid done it, bet me! 'Ee mucked with time, put us down f'r a bit, and shoved us in 'eere. Reckon we're not in the Cruiser no more, an' I don't see His Nibs, either."

"Wot, th' Hood?" wondered Fuse, helping his sister get to her feet. Clattered like the Mechanic, both of them.

"'Oo else, you bloody great oaf? We gotta get out and go find 'im. No Hood, no pay, no _food…_ you get me?"

Fuse nodded.

"I getcha, Evie. Where we gonna look, first?"

Havok rolled her blue eyes, but gave over trying to correct his use of her real name. Until he came fully awake, her brother would have trouble with all but the simplest commands. Easy enough to work out where they were, though. The locker's one hatch was printed like this: **TB3 STR LKR** , in one-inch block letters. Checking her armour's scanning device, she said,

"Not in 'eere, that's f'r sure. We've got two ruddy IR pilots… one I want in pieces… an' that d*mn little time-bender nearby… but no Hood. C'mon, Sib. Get that 'atch open, then we'll find a back way, an' scarper. Chaos Cruiser's not far."

Fuse grinned like a volcanic fissure, flexed big, armoured muscles, and ripped the hatch clean off its hinges, then flung it across the passageway. Havok bit back a caustic remark about stealth. The ship was already ringing with footsteps and thumps. No one had noticed their stylish exit. Nor did they find Evie Clarke's well-placed little gift, left behind, when she and Fuse evaded arrest and slunk off.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, in the main room-_

Grandma wasn't alone for very long. Thunderbird Shadow first, then FAB-1, arrived before sunset, bringing life and noise back to her house. Sally Tracy had been farmwife and bush-pilot, then rancher, and now IR dispatcher. She was accustomed to plenty of work. A quiet house depressed her, as did not having hordes of kids and dogs underfoot. The lifts couldn't open up on their cargo fast enough to suit Mrs. Tracy.

"Afternoon, Ma," her son greeted her, kissing the woman's still smooth (ish) right cheek. "Heard anything much from the boys?"

"Gordon called up," she told Jeff, setting his collar straight and brushing a bit at that white-and-blue government uniform. "He 'n Alan are loadin' up refugees out Mars way… and it appears we've acquired a young 'un, thanks ta some fancy paperwork."

Jeff tried out a frown, first, saw that his mother didn't match it, and then risked a cautious smile.

"Kids are a lot of responsibility," he remarked. "I hope Gordon… assuming its him… knows what he's doing." Decided not to mention his own impending re-parenthood. Not before he had to.

Kayo had come up out of the lift, by that point, after spending a bit longer settling Shadow (and searching for Rigby, who'd left the Island for Mars). Having caught the last of Dad's comment, she swung her helmet in a wide, lazy arc and said,

"He'll have plenty of backup and volunteer uncles… plus one super-cool aunt… if he needs it, Dad. Besides, raising kids isn't a pro-type job. Nothing but amateurs, all of us, no matter _how_ many classes WorldGov jams down our throats."

Jeff smiled briefly, running a hand through his brownish-grey hair.

"Managed to dodge most of those," he admitted. "Was always out on a mission. Lucy had to take them all, twice. Might have caught the diaper-change episode, or maybe the one about feeding and burping."

Kayo smiled back. She'd never met Lucinda Tracy. Like Alan, she had no personal memories of 'Mom'… but John had told her all that she'd needed to know.

"I'm sure she found a way to get even," joked Tanusha, punching her father's muscular shoulder.

Jeff winced, remembering. His wife had been quite a woman, and she lived and breathed in his memory, yet.

"That she did, Princess." Then, changing the subject, "Stay here with your Grandma. I'm going to the lab for another wrist comm."

Meant to have a private comm-chat with the absent Captain Rigby, as well, she sensed; the sudden insight making her blush. Very protective man, her father. That the Marine was not in the house… had in fact gone haring off on a rescue with Brains and Uncle Lee… was a sharp disappointment to Kayo. She very much needed a strong, solid bulwark against her own pain and confusion, but… Well, there was always work, the cure for all ills.

"Be careful, down there," she reminded her father. "Brains' equipment has been known to do some pretty weird stuff. Take a Minimax in with you."

The Colonel gave her that confident, cocked-eyebrow Jeff Tracy smile. The one that said: _C'mon, now… it's_ _me_ _._

"Breathe easy, Princess," he scoffed. "Everything's under control."

At the time, he really believed what he'd said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX


	34. Chapter 34

Hi, guys. At home and relaxing, with a three-day weekend ahead. It was quite a week; I've been learning to play the ukulele and speak German. Good times! =) Thank you for reading and reviewing, Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Tikatu, Thunderbird Shadow and Whirl Girl. I will respond with blinding speed, then edit, afterward.

 **34**

 _Mars, at the steaming and melting South Pole-_

It's 'name' would have been meaningless to primitive, carbon-based organisms; just a patterned ripple in the amplitude of its shimmering waveform, constantly broadcast. When not in a host, it communicated by altering the frequency of its pulses, a thing detectable by others of its ancient kind, or by radio and comm sets.

It was the survivor, like Apophis, of a very ancient conflict. When the universe had been thirty percent smaller, and far younger, those first intelligent beings had warred for the right to exist, and nearly destroyed themselves in the process. An earlier age, with larger, more violently powerful stars, had provided energies of such destructive force as to douse entire galactic cores, and reduce planets to drifting rubble. Even on Earth, there were legends.

It was 'male', in the sense that its pattern of propagation was electric-dominant, rather than magnetic-dominant. _He_ was thus an energy being, requiring no food, as such, but vulnerable to loss of signal strength, and to electronic noise. He'd been there on the fourth world for a very long time; had watched it shrivel, freeze and dry… then awaken, once more.

First, a scatter of Carbon-bases had arrived to peck and scratch at the surface, sending their machine probes to drill through the ice, above him. Now, they'd somehow generated force enough to re-start the world's core.

The Survivor had been resting; having imprinted himself as a pattern of lines and dots on the side of a drowned, ancient building. Then, a frozen organic had drifted past him, borne on the icy currents of this deep, toxic sea. He had reanimated himself upon the instant, flashing from printed code to green energy pattern, and thence to his new host, this 'Hood'.

Like most Carbon-bases, the Hood was not very sturdy, and died repeatedly as its host directed it upward. No matter. The Survivor simply repaired its new vessel, which might have suffered some distress as a consequence. The Organics had a ridiculous radio-phrase: _Drive it like you stole it._ This had never made sense, until now.

Up through that dense, briny darkness they flailed, to where the water grew slightly paler; lit from above by frequent lightning. He could sense the energies of quake and eruption shifting the pack-ice overhead. The Hood's continually frozen/ thawed eyes could see, after a fashion, but their sensitivity was so limited! Blind as a cyst, he was; but shielded and mobile, at least.

The ice was rippled and bumpy, above them; glowing soft pink, compared to the lightless depths they'd left behind. Survivor found a crevasse, healed up his panicking host, then forced it to clamber out of the water and into a crack barely large enough to accommodate all of that sodden, fragile, bone-stiffened mush. Why the being was _here,_ without the survival equipment required by its kind, was a puzzle. Had the Survivor not claimed it, the creature would surely have perished.

They reached the surface after a time, where toxins, low pressure and cold instantly killed the frail host. The Survivor healed it at once, again and again, untroubled by that cascade of hideous deaths. The Hood was no more than a 'stolen car', after all, and marked for destruction in any case. Why else would its fellows have placed it here?

Still… there was no sense causing needless torment. Those aeons at low power, as printed code on a crumbling submarine wall, had made the Survivor into something of a philosopher. The urge to war, to cleanse the cosmos, had faded within him to infrared ash. All he now wanted was more of his own kind, and escape from the barren fourth world of this small, isolated star system.

Taking a moment to scan his surroundings, he detected artificial signals, ambient light, and extreme crustal stress. The closest source of communication was a mechanized polar lander, perhaps twelve haads off to galactic northwest, as the corpse crawls. An escape route, at last.

Survivor set off, forcing his rigid, freezing host to creep across a buckling ice field, avoiding cracks and sudden wild geysers of dense, poisoned brine from below. These burst like the beams from an ion-cannon, roaring hundreds of haads into the air before raining back down as ice shards and foul-smelling spray. The sky above was streaked dusky with curling ash plumes, a thing he interpreted using his host's feeble senses and memory. Wind whistled around them, carrying bits of ice and grit. The air was thin, and sour as vomited water. Death arrived every few seconds, making their progress over the ice spotty. Disjointed.

Every staggering rush ended in deep-frozen collapse. Each gasping breath resulted in burst lungs and mushy edema, followed by death, instant repair, and the command to keep moving. Finally, they reached his goal; the dusty probe that had first landed atop the ice, all those long cycles ago. It was still signaling 'home', the system's teeming third planet.

Survivor considered. His host was vile and murderous… but his own patterns and waves were not free of taint. An entire galactic arm had been cleansed of enemy lifeforms, at his command. In more Carbon-based terms, so might a wet-handed serial killer regard the cat who'd brought a dead bird to the house.

Shrugging hard-frozen shoulders till the skin splintered and cracked, he decided that most beings are capable of change, given time to reflect on their deeds. For that reason, Survivor did not simply abandon his used-up host to perish out there on the booming and splintering ice cap. Instead, he forced the whimpering creature up to that squat metal probe, then disassociated its atoms for a quick signal-ride 'home'. Earth was about to meet its first alien.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Farther north, in Thunderbird 3-_

Alan Tracy was still in the cockpit, needing twelve eyes and fifty hands to keep track of all that rumbling chaos. His Bird shuddered and swayed with each ground-spasm, and he had to keep firing his steering rockets to correct. That, or fall over.

Time-locked boulders hung slow-drifting downward, humming like hornets with pent force. But, hardly moving or not, if they hit, they'd do massive damage. Alan had to key up his shields, trying for more of an umbrella effect than, like, an overturned bowl. People had to get in, y'know?

Out on the hull, meanwhile, Megamax had unfolded his pincer-tipped arms, ready to swat away any rocks that came close. Gordon and Charlie were still down below; the swimmer having scooped his tired kid back up into a one-armed hip-carry, while waving people up ramp and aboard.

Alan might have been wrong, but part of his fractured attention insisted that the sun's vague, ash-filtered glow was behaving oddly; tracking northward, or something. Dude… the planet was _rolling?_ They hadn't covered that one in training. Blue eyes gone wider, Alan hit his wrist comm.

"Uh, hey… Gordon?"

"Kinda busy here, Al… What's up?" His brother called back, over screaming wind, shouting people, and far-off eruptions.

Staring at that smudgy-pale sunspot (which was definitely sliding northward, as well as skittering back and forth like a nervous bug), Alan cleared his throat and asked,

"Have you, um… noticed anything strange?"

There was a two-beat pause. Then his brother… out there in mid Marsquake, beneath sluggish boulders and lava bombs, on a suddenly wide-awake planet… exploded with laughter.

"Naw, Bro, it's great. We're having a blast, out here. All beer and skittles. Why do you ask? (This way, Sir… watch your step, please… keep to the centre… it's a long drop.)"

"Oh, nothing," Alan replied, feeling kind of foolish. "Just…"

And that's when the bomb went off.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Twenty miles south, over a braided and twining canyon system-_

They'd got Roy Masters' folks and dog loaded up, then taken back off again. According to the worried colonist, his neighbors from Dry Fells were just a short ways behind, so Captain Taylor went hunting, just like the old days. One thing he'd learned about rescues in his years with the Tracys: you might not get there in time to stop disaster, but you never quit trying to help. Not until every dang one 'a them people was safe.

Brains kept his eyes on the scanner, looking for life signs, while Taylor flew, and Rigby got people strapped in and settled, below. For a scientist and government liaison, those two made a pair of d*mn fine rescue jocks. Not that he had much time to slap backs, or nuthin'.

Crosswind over the canyon was a bitch, but he'd flown through… well, not _worse,_ but different.

"Place was a lot quieter back when me, McCord an' Tracy was runnin' things," he remarked. Then, two things happened at once: They picked up alarms from Thunderbird 3, and spotted those fleeing colonists; about twenty people, just ahead of a massive, crashing and spuming mudslide.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, a bit earlier, on approach-_

Having been in constant contact with Grandma, FAB-1 now banked around from the east, reaching Base just before sunset. Parker eased the purring pink aircar down to the tarmac just as that juddering, dancing sun touched the horizon.

"'Ome, Milady," he announced, switching the limo to ground mode. Felt the springs bounce a little as they came down… not his best landing… then shifted gears and started to drive.

"Thank you, Parker. Well done. Bring us round to the front, if you please," responded Penelope, touching up hair and maquillage. "I should like to stretch my legs a bit, before going within."

"Yes, Milady."

Zara, meanwhile, was pressed to the window glass, her face reflecting delight and surprise. Only just, she restrained herself from bouncing in place and crying out: _We're here! We've reached Tracy Island!_

Even Sherbert was calmer, merely cracking an eye and wagging his short, curly tail. The girl's blue eyes were wide with amazement and wonder. Penelope smiled somewhat sadly, having long ago lost the capacity for such innocent joy.

"Rather impressive, isn't it?" she ventured, as Parker drove from airstrip to that beautiful mountainside house.

"It's incredible," breathed Zara, staring as if she could eat it all up at a gulp. "One sees pictures and vid, of course, but…"

"The reality is far grander," Penny finished, trying to recall her own first impressions, on arriving at Jeff Tracy's summons. Had she been that excited? Or jaded and calm, even then? Penny remembered her reactions upon first seeing Scott Tracy, at least. Fresh from officer candidate school, tall, strong and so very handsome he'd been. _Was,_ she rebuked herself. Her fiancé was still alive. She knew it.

"Shall… I be meeting the family, Milady?" Zara turned from the window to ask. Makeup-free, blonde hair drawn back in a charmingly messy topknot, she looked like a schoolgirl. "Or, is there a guest house for visiting workers?"

Penelope shook her head, smiling kindly.

"No, Dear. The Tracys are Americans, with all that entails. Despite my best efforts at civilisation, they are entirely unconscious of status; treating Parker, Brains and yourself, probably, as one of their family. Quite amusing, actually."

By this time, FAB-1 had crunched its way up the short drive to the lava-rock cliff, where a staircase led to the house. Parker might have driven directly into a hangar, letting them out at the lifts, but Penny preferred to stroll a bit. She'd been sitting for hours.

"That sounds splendid to me, Milady," beamed Zara. "I am quite sure that we shall get on like a house on fire." Then, "Might there be a loo near to hand? Only, I've been holding…"

Penelope forgot herself enough to actually laugh.

"Yes, Dear. Although the Tracys generally refer to them as 'heads' or 'latrines'. I am somewhat in need of freshening up, as well, and Bertie would no doubt enjoy a sniff and stroll of his own. We shall all pop into the W.C. at stairs' end, I promise."

Parker stopped the car at cliffside, turned off the engine, then got out to open doors. First, Lady Penelope's, then… once her ladyship and Bertie were out… Zara's. They stepped forth into warm, fragrant tropical twilight, with booming surf to one side, and wind-rustled jungle to the other. Overhead rose the Tracys' extinct volcano, with the house placed like a jewel in its side. The building gleamed golden-red in the fading sunshine, giving no hint of the giant machines that lay hid underneath. Rather a sight, at that.

Whence, and exactly how Kayo managed to sneak up, Penny had no clear idea. The minx _did_ have rather the cheeky trick of surprising one.

"Kayo, darling!" Penny greeted her friend, giving the dark-haired girl an affectionate peck. Then Bertie had got to be handed over, for sloppy kisses and snuggles. "How delightful to see you! Allow me to introduce Zara Herringford-Smith, an associate of your dear father's."

Tanusha looked, then looked again. Of course, she'd caught a glimpse of Zara the night dad had swung down into Thunderbird Shadow, and again, at the Reservation, but not very closely, or long.

"You have a sister?" she blurted, because… _wow,_ they were similar.

"No, Dear," Penny corrected her, somewhat frostily. "As I remarked, Zara is an _associate_."

Blushing, the other girl reached for Sherbert, mumbling,

"I'm a student, Miss Tracy. I attend university, and work… _worked,_ rather… as a Chancellery intern. Her Ladyship and I are not related."

Kayo… Tanusha Tracy… shrugged and smiled, seeming taller than she looked in her pictures.

"That's fine. This is an 'earn your keep' sort of place. Stick around for too long, and Brains 'll put you to work fixing engines. Don't suppose you can cook?" she next added, hopefully.

Zara giggled.

"I'm a dab hand at sandwiches, hors d'oeuvres, and serving drinks," she said brightly. By this point, Parker had got their luggage out of the car's boot, coming forward to say,

"Milady, Miss Zara, Miss Kayo, h-Oi'll just be h-off to get these satchels h-upstairs, h-if y'll not be wanting me further?"

Penelope inclined her sleek, golden-blonde head.

"Thank you, Parker. That will be all. You may go."

"Yes, Milady," responded her grizzled old driver, shouldering all of their bags, at once. "Thank you."

Fit as a cat-burglar, he next turned and sprinted upstairs, whistling something merry and tuneless.

"Bet you two need the head," Kayo guessed, sparking a laugh from Zara, who seemed quite happy to be there, despite the circumstances.

Penelope affected not to hear the question, taking a sudden interest in the buckles and straps on her vintage handbag. But Zara said, feelingly,

"You've no idea, Miss Tracy. I'm fair _busting_ for the loo!"

Kayo grinned at her.

"I fly a weaponless stealth fighter, Zara. Believe me, I _know._ Virgil, John and Alan are the only ones around here with onboard potties… and it's 'Kayo'. No _Miss_ required. Now, c'mon. Follow me."

…Which was how one, very lucky, young lady arrived precisely where and when she needed to be.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Down in the lab complex, meantime-_

Head on down and fetch a new wrist comm. Seriously, how hard could it be? Jeff was no genius… he had Brains for all that… but he wasn't an idiot, either. Only, the lab had got quite a bit bigger and more threatening in the time he'd been trapped and held by the Hood. More rooms, more specimens, more sparking fields and buzzing equipment. Not to mention the training area, which was strictly off-limits, due to a long running sim, and some kind of bet between Brains and John.

Well, he had a couple of looping, humming Minimaxes to guide him 'twixt Scylla and Charybdis, so everything should have been ace. Only, halfway through Brains' main workspace, Jeff spotted a bench holding something gripped between rubber-tipped claspers. About the right size and configuration, with a platinum sheen and small, blinking lights, it looked like a Mark II wrist comm to Jeff. _Bingo._

Smiling at how easily and quickly he'd accomplished his errand, Colonel Tracy swerved away from his swooping nursemaids, strode right over to that bench, and took hold of the glittering prize. It buzzed in his grip, seeming almost alive with power. Extra battery life, Jeff figured, strapping it on. There was a small screen and holo-projector, of course, with a scatter of blinking green studs.

"How d'you start this thing up?" he wondered aloud, pressing what looked like the power switch. Then…

…the world turned inside out. Light blurred, splashed and froze in one direction, while making figure-of-eights in the other. He stumbled and cried out, hearing his own voice echoed back at him in mocking waves; sometimes varied in pitch, or backward.

Turning was a problem. Facing one way, he was squashed like a stickman on paper. Another way, he felt himself coming apart. Only a specific direction and stance kept him wrapped in the right number of dimensions. Thinking: _What the h*ll?_ his next question was, "How do you turn this thing off?!"


	35. Chapter 35

Would have added some more, but Dang... long enough, already. Thank you for reading!

 **35**

 _Mars, swooping down over the Hebrus Valley canyon system-_

Twenty people or so, packed in, and onto, three ranch crawlers, with a wall of thundering, boulder-clawed mud right behind them, maybe a hundred feet tall. Narrow canyon walls, screaming winds, and a ticking, see-sawing clock.

"Ain't gonna get there in time," Lee announced calmly, followed by, "Doc, force shield. Make 'em a bubble, so's they c'n ride it out."

Brains glanced over at the pilot, his brown eyes huge behind their spectacles.

"The p- people within will be, ah… be b-battered to pulp, unless…" Hackenbacker trailed off in a mumble. Like his friend, John, the engineer thought best on the fly, and calculated the same way that other men breathe. "Of c- course," he muttered, hammering keys on the instrument panel. "…limited inertial dampers and…"

Seconds later, a pale blue sphere had formed around those fleeing people, who were now packed round with inertia-stealing fermions, like bubble-wrapped china. That towering, grey-brown mud wall reached them an instant later, smashing into the shimmering globe with the force of a crashing mountain. The shining blue globe disappeared for several heartbeats, while Taylor, Brains and Max waited tensely. Then it broke surface once more, rushing past beneath Thunderbird Prototype's silvery bat-shape, riding a torrent of roaring mud.

Captain Taylor would have whooped and exulted, except that A: he was still worried for Thunderbird 3, and B: the gale that accompanied that rampaging mud slide came d*mn near to flipping them over. Only fast work with the stick and rockets kept them level. Fighting his controls, the astronaut grunted,

"We need ta pull up outta this sh*t, Doc. Can ya reel 'em on in?"

Brains blinked at him owlishly.

"Add f- further terms to an already f- fourth level equation?" The engineer took a deep breath, muttered an invocation to Krishna, Ganesh, and whomever else might be slumming on Mars, then plunged back into his figures. "As J- John would, ah… would s- say, 'on it', C- Captain." Never mind that quintics were demonstrably without solution in this universe.

Max warbled something mournful, drawing a wink from Lee.

"Ain't nobody, nowheres, smarter 'n Doc, Mike. Thinkin's whut we brung him for." Then, switching the comm for Rigby, "Make some elbow room back there, Wyatt… got another load comin' in hot."

"Yessir," the young Marine called back, because he'd been given an order, not asked for opinions. "We'll be ready."

Meanwhile, Taylor had banked them around to follow that mud-flecked and tumbling bubble. Brains chewed his lip and worked the problem, finally reaching for extra dimensions to make a quintic equation actually _work._

"I h- have it!" he yelped at last, with tears and joy in his voice. "J- J- John will be utterly s- speechless!"

Barely felt Taylor's backslap, as he hunched forward in his seat straps to program like mad. Then, a few dozen keystrokes later, the muddy globe began to rise; lifted above that spuming, roaring flood by an impulse shoehorned in from another dimension. It rose smoothly toward them, on a pedestal of short-cutting energy. Lee hit the comm again, shouting,

"Y'all hang tight, back there!"

…and opened the main cargo bay doors. Brains was intensely focused, directing the prototype's lifting thrust through a ninety-degree dimensional bypass, while retaining its orientation and field strength. That captured globe ascended, containing twenty-five rescued people and their idling vehicles.

Inside the hold, everyone was strapped down or tethered, and back in their surface survival gear. The big cargo bay doors slid apart with a grinding, sand-eating shriek, letting in first a crack of pink light, then keening wind in great, freezing blasts.

Rigby, Masters and one of his ranch hands stood side by side, ready to deal with their up-rushing load. Red Mars shot by, underneath; writhing and stretching like an about-to-burst chrysalis. Rigby stared at the globe of blue force, maybe sixty feet in diameter, that bobbed up into their hold like an ice cube in whisky. Streaked with mud and rust, it appeared to contain a great many floating people and several crawlers.

"Incoming!" he shouted, because: _Marine._

Roy Masters grinned and tapped his own helmet comm.

"We can all hear you, Son," he chuckled, as the bubble of rescued neighbors drifted all the way in. "I'll be d*mned," he added, "if that's not the quietest ol' Bette's ever been. Oughta leave her that way!"

The doors ground closed once again, getting jammed a few times on gritty sand and spattering mud. Alarms blatted and shrilled, adding still more noise to the mix. Rigby, Masters and Levy (his foreman) had to rappel down between the great doors with crowbars and picks to loosen that jamming grit, as the erupting landscape flashed by underneath.

Later, over beers with the Tracys and Taylor, Wayne tried to describe it all; the booming sounds of stressed hull, the frustrated snarl of jammed machinery, that shrieking gale making him bob and swing on his tether, while people above called out encouragement. He'd never been closer to death, or fonder of life. Never more bursting with purpose.

Working with Masters and Levy, he got the mechanism going again. Willing hands drew them up and out of harm's way, as people who should have stayed strapped down safe, rushed to help the three men back inside.

See, there were all kinds of rescuers. Some wore a uniform and had special equipment and skills. Others just jumped in where needed; risking much more, because they had less.

The doors closed at last, quieting most of that awful noise, and strangling silent the wailing alarms. The force globe winked out, at Rigby's all-clear, freeing the rescued colonists. The Marine was back-slapped, shoved and embraced by a hold full of elated survivors, who had a story to tell for the rest of their salvaged lives. And he thought: _I could get used to this._

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Somewhat earlier, near Mars Base-_

A blast of loud noise and smashing force had made Charlie react by stopping it all, _right now_. Everything froze but him. Even… even Gordon.

His best good teamwork friend was all bent, with fire on his pay suit. If… if Charlie let him go, maybe his pay suit wouldn't work, anymore? Maybe he'd die? The rocks were still up, and the big red ship had a hole, now, with _more_ fire and pieces all out, frozen where he'd grabbed them. Only… only… he didn't know what to do! There was… was people in the air from the ramp, and he couldn't ask Gordon!

Scared out of his wits, helpless and terribly powerful, Charlie started to cry; sobbing with all the heartbroken force of a terrified, abandoned small boy. Hugged what he could reach of Gordon, begging,

"Please, please be okay, Gordon. Please? I'll be good! I'll be good, forever! Don't go! Please, I c- c- can't…!"

He heard something. Got scared _more_ , got bigger, and tried to hide behind Gordon, his whole world.

"Hey, Pal," somebody said to him, from outside Charlie's reach. A guy, waving. "Hey, it's okay. Don't be scared. I'm pretty nervous, too… only don't tell anyone, 'cause I'm supposed to be in charge, around here."

(In charge meant 'yells a lot', like the brown-hair brother.)

"Can I come in and help, Pal?"

Charlie considered a minute, glancing a few times at Gordon, who was locked up safe from dying. Then, sniffling, the little boy nodded.

"You could come in," he whispered. "You could help."

The man started walking, watched the whole way by a frightened young time-bender. When he got closer, he squatted down to look at Charlie and smile.

"Hey, there. I'm Pete. We met at the Base, remember?"

Charlie nodded, a little uncertainly. There were lots of people at the Base, and his head was already full up with brothers.

"I 'member," he kinda-sorta lied.

"Awesome. Okay, so _you're_ doing all this? Keeping the blast locked up, like that?"

After a second, Charlie nodded. Pete-guy seemed nice, so…

"Yes, Sir. I did it… but I'll be good, I _promise!"_

Pete smiled again. His teeth were apart in the front. That was funny, so Charlie smiled back. The man patted his shoulder, saying,

"You're aces with me, Pal. Now, I got a few friends, believe it or not… Captain Hesse and Sergeant Declaire… and if they can come in, too, we can get these folks out of the blast zone. What d'you say, Chip? Sound good to you?"

That was a lot of words, but the gist… more people to help Gordon and all them… got through.

"Yes, Sir. They could come, too. Help Gordon first, okay? You gotta help Gordon, first! Promise?" he just about danced from foot to foot with worry and need, but Pete nodded, not smiling no more.

"I promise, Pal. Squid gets out, first."

'Pal' and 'Squid' must be something good, Charlie figured, like 'Buddy', 'Big guy' or 'Kiddo'. Another new word to save up inside, 'cause someday, _he'd_ help a kid who didn't know what to do. Someday, he'd be like Gordon and Pete.

The Base Commander patted the boy's shoulder, then got to his feet with a grunt. Turning, McCord waved back at his waiting people, signaling Hesse and Declaire to come forward. They'd been reluctant to let the admiral go in alone, and he'd had to pull rank, threatening lifelong KP and permanently cancelled leave, at status E-0. Not a threat. A Goddam _promise._

"Need an emergency hab with full life support," he told them, as the scared kid tried to duck out of sight. "Some of these people are going to need medical help. Their suits are ruptured."

Captain Hesse nodded, then gave him a sharp salute.

"Aye, Sir. Sergeant, get back out past the time-lock effect, and get started inflating a hab. You'll be triage and medic. Understood?"

Declaire saluted, in turn.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said to the tall, blonde captain. "Right away."

And with that, he loped off, taking long, Mars-type strides. Hesse turned back to the boss and Charlie, whom she'd helped get adopted.

"Good thing we've got a God-dan Tracy here," she remarked, smiling down at the scared little fellow. "It might be tough to pull this off, otherwise. Good thing he's just like his dad."

Charlie smiled back, because he _was_ a Tracy, and Tracys didn't get scared, and they didn't never, _ever,_ start crying. They just got to work.

One by one, starting with Gordon Tracy, the time-locked people were moved from Thunderbird 3 to that newly erected hab, where Sergeant Declaire got them sorted. Thing was, (he found out the hard way) their momentum remained, and kicked back in, once they got released from the time-bender's hold. Meant that Gordon went sailing, with his burst air-tank afire, almost breeching the hab's inflatable wall. Declaire was better prepared for the next guy, who'd been falling.

As for Gordon, he'd gone from burst of comm static, huge noise, flame gout and giant concussion… to swaying med tent. Was disoriented for, like, five minutes, then wanted to jump back out there because, _Charlie and Alan._

Literally forced the med guy to loan him a Mars suit and check him off as fit for duty, then hurried back out. Felt like Master Chief in that clunky green Mars armour, but it wasn't the gear that mattered. Like Grandma was always telling them, it was the Tracy, inside.

He fairly flew out of that air-filled emergency med-tent, and back to Thunderbird 3; sore frickin' _everywhere_ … even his teeth hurt… but willing. Found Charlie, first ( _Thank God, thank God, thank God)_ then took a long second to just scoop the kid up and hug him close.

"Gordon, you's squishing me!"

"Sorry," the aquanaut laughed. "You okay, Big guy? Nothing's broken?"

Charlie nodded.

"I'm okay. I'm helping. You's okay, too, Gordon? You's fine?"

"Never better," said his dad. ('Cause, that's what he was. Captain Hesse said so. There was _papers_ , and everything.) "You done good, Charlie. Be flying your own Bird, in no time flat!"

Which was about when the prototype showed back up, searching for somewhere to land. No guff between McCord and Taylor, this time. (Or at least, not much. A bit of name-calling and ancestry questioning, was all.)

Gordon had no time to listen. He was after his brother. Just like Charlie, _his_ responsibility. Alan R. Tracy had been placed in his arms as a red-faced, squashed-looking and sort of ugly baby.

"He's your little brother," Mom had told him, golden-red hair swinging forward as she bent to kiss his upturned face. "You have to take care of him, Gordon. You're a big brother, now."

…and a father. Well, he would have left Charlie safe with the others, but the kid wouldn't stay. Had to take him along, plus Pete, who was every bit as stubborn about it.

They got back into the rocket by climbing up to the forward boarding hatch, passing burst seams that glowed with time-locked flame and concussive force. A cloud of blasting rivets hung in midair like those boulders. Perfectly still relative to Charlie, Gordon and Pete, they still packed tremendous energy, and had got to be avoided, making for some pretty intense gymnastics.

"Would… _urf…_ kill for a jet pack, right now," Gordon grunted, easing his way past an evil, hornet-like swarm of rivets and hull shards. "Where are Scott and John, when you need 'em?"

"Shut up and climb," snapped McCord. "I'm paying by the hour, here."

"Wait… I'm getting _paid?"_ whooped Gordon, nearly loosing his grip on the next hull brace. "Hot da… uh, that's awesome." Because, you know… brothers to save, mouths to feed. That crap cost money.

Together, they made it at last to the forward hatch, which Charlie released enough for his dad to key open. Then, they climbed on inside, and up to the cockpit, where Alan was sprawled against the instrument panel; seeming battered, but alive.

"No way we're going to climb down with a frozen Tracy," said Pete. "Got any line onboard?"

Gordon shot him a _'Hello! International Rescue!'_ look.

"Only a couple thousand yards," he boasted. "Space-rated and battle-tested, like me."

"An' _me_ ," Charlie piped up.

"Dude, naturally," said his dad. "We're a team. Goes without saying. Now, let Sleeping Beauty, here, go and we'll tell him how he'd of been toast, if you hadn't pulled that slick move when the blast went off."

Charlie giggled, impulsively hugging Gordon.

"He's not toast! You _eat_ toast! He's other brother."

"Yeah? Well, I'll eat you!" Gordon laughed, making pretend chewing noises and bouncing his kid in the air a few times. Little guy was definitely smaller, by the time they'd done playing; McCord stifling his impatience with saintly effort.

Alan was sort of disoriented, when Charlie let him go. The blast had been channeled upward, its shockwave just about bursting his eardrums, but he recovered quickly enough to rappel down the rocket without much help. Had to blink back tears at the bottom, though, as he saw what had happened to Thunderbird 3.

Charlie reached up shyly to take Alan's gloved hand, then, whispering,

"I was crying, too, Pal. Pete said to don't worry. He'd help. Maybe he could help you Bird, too?"

Alan Tracy took a deep breath and tore his stinging eyes away from the ruptured and flaring rocket. Gordon's hand was tight to his right shoulder, while Charlie's was thrust into his own; both, in their own way, offering comfort.

"I…" he began, then thought of something. "Havok and Fuse," he blurted, whirling to face his brother. "Did anyone check the aft storage lockers? They could still be inside!"


	36. Chapter 36

A little bit more. Can't be the end, because I hate to stop with an even number. :/ Gotta be odd. Prime, if possible. Thank you, Bow Echo and Creative Girl, for your kind reviews. I am not the master of brevity that Echo is, but this one is short.

 **36**

 _Tracy Island-_

Very carefully, Jeff moved; maintaining the stance and direction that kept all his parts still connected. Something like walls streamed horribly past and _through_ him. Light dripped, puddled and streamed, in that chilly-pale shade that said: fluorescent paneling. Still in the lab, then.

He stumbled onward… or leapt, or surged… hard to tell, except that small moves on his part seemed to yield huge gains, yardage-wise. Anyway, tough to think. Too much (literally) going through his mind. But, he needed an open, safe place to take off the… the thing. The dimension walker. It buzzed at his wrist; strongly, when he'd faced the wrong way and started to drift, more gently when he was back out of danger. Didn't want to risk coming out inside of a wall, or the dining room table, so Jeff kept on moving.

Then, he at last felt Morse code gusts of wind. Smelled occasional bursts of ocean. Outside. He'd escaped the lab and mountain. Swallowing hard and muttering half a Hail Mary (the part he remembered), Jeff tore off that bogus wrist comm and threw it as far away as he could. _Instantly,_ several things happened. The world jerked itself right again, like a billowing, unfolded shirt. He could see straight and breathe deeply, once more. Then, he started to fall, being an unfortunate fifteen feet above open water, at the Island's windward side.

The dimensional walker was caught in midair by one of his hovering nanny-bots, but Jeff simply plunged, wind whistling past till he struck water, hard. Bubbles and current swirled in his ears. Warm, bitter seawater shot up his nose, and had to be snorted back out again, once he broke surface. Had the wedgie of a lifetime, too. Jeff sculled and began treading water, riding those tall, hissing swells like a cork. He'd always hated ditching at sea, and the experience wasn't much better without an aircraft.

The Maxes (or two of their clones) zipped and banked overhead, flashing and beeping excitedly.

"Shut… _hunh, hunh…_ up!" he cough-gasped ferociously. "Not… a d*mn… word, to anyone! Get home… myself."

And then, Jeff started to swim for a big, dark splotch on the near horizon, jeweled with flickering lights. The sky behind it still glowed deep blue with bent sunshine, and the first few jittering stars. (Though that effect was fading, as the time and gravity waves settled down.) It was a nice night for a swim, he was Jeff Tracy, and _nothing_ had happened. Nothing at all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _In transit-_

The probe employed a weak carrier wave, which was boosted at a primary satellite station, and once again at a central receiver, halfway to the third world. Most of the streaming data-traffic from fourth world was being routed to ping an island, while the rest went on to a large, carbon-base authority site.

The survivor was uncertain, yet. Did not know enough to avoid making errors, and preferred to avoid attention. For that reason, at the moment of decision, he switched his signal to the island, which pulsed with data, but not many lifeforms. There were machines present, though few of them sapient, and none at all Ancient. No threat of capture, for one who was cautious.

From fourth world to third, sixty-four time parts. To the island, another one-and-a-half. Then, uncertain where to release his host (which was clearly unwanted by its fellow organics), Survivor flashed in through the main antenna, and skated the area broadband. Settled among grouped images on a sturdy, dry wall, as dots and lines on an image frame. As for his erstwhile host...

The Hood materialised in mid-chamber, where several Carbon-bases had met to exchange data. There was immediate excitation.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

So, Colonel Tracy emerged from the centre lift, grumpy, tired and damp, still toweling off. His mother's eyebrows flew up at the sight of him, stomping through the doors in one of Scott's ill-fitting (but dry) uniforms. Penny, Kayo and Zara turned, too; questions rising like bubbles in orange soda.

Then… no lie… out of literally _nowhere,_ the Hood showed up, looking wild and deranged. Like a d*mn God-send. An effing _excuse._ Jeff, Kayo and Penny all lunged at once, but Colonel Tracy got there first, and busted that bastard right in the face, hard enough to break the monster's nose, and drop him right in his tracks. Struck with all the force of a pissed-off Tracy, the Hood staggered, swung halfway around, and then just collapsed to the ground, spraying blood and broken teeth.

Jeff split his own knuckles doing it, but _d*mn,_ that felt good.


	37. Chapter 37

Another mini, because it just seemed to stand alone. Might be all for this weekend, unless the writing bug bites again. Thank you, Creative Girl, Tikatu and Thunderbird Shadow, for reading and reviewing... and "Hi, there!", Dragon Mage. =)

 **37**

 _The rumbling and changing Red Planet, near Mars Base-_

Admiral McCord had heard Alan's comment… he had a helmet comm, just like everyone else… and now, he signaled the young man aside. Not out of sight, as Charlie's time-lock effect didn't cover much ground, but enough to be private.

The boulders and lava-bombs were appreciably closer than they had been, and Thunderbird Prototype was on the ground, ready for loading, but Pete had something to say. Motioning Alan to cut off his comm, the Base Commander did the same, then stepped forward until their helmet faceplates were touching. His eyes were quite narrow and ferociously blue as he snarled,

"Let me get this straight… you brought Havok and Fuse… wanted criminals… _onto my base?!"_

His voice shook with barely suppressed wrath. With trying not to explode. Having grown up around McCord and Taylor (who was on his way over) Alan knew exactly how angry the gap-toothed commander could get, and just how profane.

"Sir, I…"

 _"Shut up._ I'm going to do you a favor, Son, and assume you weren't in charge. That it wasn't _your_ dumbass, insane, f*cking idea to sneak a couple of Goddam _felons_ onto my planet. Tell me I'm right, Tracy."

"Well, you see…"

"I said, _shut up!_ It happened. It's done. They're missing, or dead. I'll have my people run scans. Tough to hide on Mars, unless you can f*cking sneak in with a trusted Goddam _visitor!_ And don't give me any sh*t about following orders, Tracy. _Your_ vessel, your command, _your_ right to f*cking decline!"

Alan felt about three inches tall. Didn't try to cut in, this time because, really, what could he say? McCord was still raging.

"Don't you _ever_ d*mn well lie to me again, Mister… _or_ try to conceal vital information, _any of you!_ Now… I want those f*ckers accounted for; dead or alive doesn't make a d*mn bit of difference to me, except dead, they're easier to f*cking evict. Am I clear, _Mister_ Tracy?!"

Alan nodded, the constant background rumble and howl making this pretty close to his vision of absolute hell.

"Yes, Sir," he whispered. By that time, thank heaven, Captain Taylor had got there; hurrying forward, while somehow appearing completely relaxed. Like an old friend just there to catch up and pass the time, he draped an arm across Pete's rigid shoulders, then jerked a thumb to indicate that they ought to go for a stroll.

Feeling like he'd just been released from frickin' Tartarus, Alan stumbled off. He'd been reamed out a few times by Scott, of course, and frozen by John's icy withdrawal, but that had been nothing, compared to this. 'Cause, yeah… they should have told him. Pete had trusted them, not even checking their hold, and they'd snuck Havok, Fuse, the Hood _and_ the Mechanic onto his territory. Now, maybe, he'd never trust them again. Maybe his friendship with Dad would be over.

Together with the frozen destruction of Thunderbird 3, and his still-missing brothers, all this was too much for Alan Tracy. He wanted to crawl off somewhere private and cry. Only, there was no place to go, and nothing to do but pitch in with evac.

Gordon came bounding over with Chip, then, both of them looking concerned.

"Not good?" his brother asked, in clumsy, gloved signs.

Al shook his head, no; fighting not to break down in front of his brother and little nephew.

"Worst," he signed back.

Fascinated, Charlie tried to copy their hand motions, which were modified ASL. (Long story, involving their cousin Stephanie, before her implants restored full hearing.) Gordon got distracted by his kid's fumbling efforts, and began teaching him a few basic signs, plus the old alphabet. Alan left them to it, wandering miserably off to find someone with scanning equipment. It'd been a heck of a day at sea.

Havok and Fuse were not on the rocket, which was finally allowed to go ahead and explode… but not until Alan had his chance to stand there, alone, one hand on an engine nacelle, and say farewell.

"You've been a great ship," he whispered, under that ashy, rock-studded sky, "and you didn't deserve this."

He'd used a field projector to snatch a few shards of hull plating from midair, and pulled out the rocket's processing unit, meaning to work them into his next Bird.

"We'll rebuild you, I promise… and Pete's right. _My_ ship, _my_ command, my rules. Never again, no matter what Scott says. So, I guess… I guess… goodbye, Girl. Goodbye."

And then, Alan Tracy lifted his blond head, turned around and walked away to rejoin the waiting others. Purposely avoided the cockpit as they took off, instead sitting down beside Kayo's marine, back in the crew section. Max offered a cherry soda, which he shakily took, but couldn't drink. Then, a few minutes later, Charlie released his hold on the frozen spaceship. Thunderbird 3 erupted in flame and jagged shards, leaving a giant crater on surface and heart… but it wasn't the end.


	38. Chapter 38

Well, stories exist to be written, despite my grumpy mathematical preferences. :/ Besides, I can always squeeze in one more chapter, and end with the triumphantly odd (but thuddingly composite) number 39. Thank you, Bow Echo, Creative Girl, Tikatu, Thunderbird Shadow Whirl Girl and Susan (for all of those Lockdown comments). Your reviews and encouragement are a true joy. Often as I've previously said so, I really mean that. =)

 **38**

 _Mars, in the hectic days following the banishment of Apophis-_

The Prototype was large and capacious; a good thing, as they ended up rescuing over a hundred and fifty people from that shuddering, fast-changing planet. Some wouldn't leave, choosing to brave the dangers of quake, mudflow and eruption, rather than abandon their homes. Among these were Admiral McCord and his command crew, who would only accede to waiting on Deimos Station for the worst to die down, before heading right back to their shattered post.

None of the colonists returned to Earth. For them, home was Mars, dammit. (An inside joke; no true Martian ever said simply 'Mars'. It was always: _Mars, dammit_. Even Pete and his officers, in their unguarded moments, spoke that way.) They went only as far as Asteroid-1, where Captain Paul Metcalfe made as much room as he could in his crowded and busy law-enforcement outpost.

Of Havok and Fuse, they found no trace. The Chaos Cruiser was well and truly gone, though, meaning that its criminal occupants had most likely skipped planet. Better for them, as McCord was still furious.

For his own part, Captain Taylor would not rest until every last distress call had been tracked down and answered, every last ranch family taken to safety. Most left clutching a small handful of muddy red dirt; their quasi-magical spell to guarantee a swift return.

Gordon, Alan, Rigby and Brains worked till they dropped, getting people picked up and saved from one hairy situation after another. Not everyone living on Mars was present legally, you see, and some of them waited until the last possible moment to holler for help. A few would surely have perished, had a time-bender not been there to freeze them in harrowing mid-crisis. By the end of those rushed and risky few days, Charlie had grown quite seasoned. He eventually settled at the size of a five-year-old (though that wasn't his actual age).

For the boy, life was adventure, play, space-food and sleep, beside the star of his life, Gordon Tracy. 'Home' would come as quite a shock, once they got there. He'd heard all about the Island, of course, but nothing could prepare that small, shy child for regular meals, daily baths and bedtime.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, in the meantime-_

Chancellor Shaw had expressed concern for Zara's welfare, asking to see and speak with 'the dear girl', over holo-vid. Very kind, to be sure, but Colonel Tracy kept such contacts extremely short. Plain and simple, Jeff did not trust Sebastian Shaw any further than he could throw him (about fifteen feet, if he really dug in and heaved).

Still and all, the Island was a beautiful place; a riot of gorgeous flowers, trilling birds, steaming jungle, constant winds and high surf. There were gen-mod pterosaurs, too, whose colony roosted amid the caves near the top of Mt. Lucie. Not on the same side as the house, though. Too much activity.

Zara found it all incredibly magical, and her small, cozy 'guest room' entirely charming. You see, far from being sterile, like a hotel, the room was a sort of shrine for all of the boys' outgrown toys, family pictures, old books and mementos.

Enchanted, Zara made a game out of guessing the Tracys' natures, from what she found on the neat, afghan-covered bed, that worn blue-velvet armchair, cushioned window seat and battered wood desk. All three older boys had carved their initials upon the scarred maple escritoire with a penknife, or some such. The trick was finding out _where._ Evidently, they'd wished to avoid their father's displeasure. Scott's initials… SWT… appeared at the rear of the top right drawer. JMT had been smoothly carved at the back of _both_ front legs, whilst a clumsy, childish-looking VET was scratched underneath the desktop, by someone who'd crouched on the floor, below (and had then gone over his work in vivid blue crayon).

Zara ran a forefinger over all of their marks, and smiled. Odd, really… to think of those three storied heroes as mischievous scoundrels afraid of their Da. Her own was quite loving, if often away. But then, the interplanetary export business was terribly demanding. He saw Mum… his common-law wife… at most, twice a year. But, _always,_ on Zara's birthday. She'd not told him of her internship, simply because they'd not been in touch since the last time 'Edwin Smith' had returned to his home world. All's well that ends well, however; surely, he'd not be upset by her oversight.

Sitting there in the bright, airy guestroom, balcony doors open to a gentle afternoon breeze, Zara tried to imagine what growing up under a superman like Colonel Tracy must have been like. Intimidating, she fancied, trying to visualize Jeff's tall form, booming voice and commanding presence in place of Da's slim, smiling self… his satchel bulging with presents and sweets.

Shaking her golden-blonde head, the girl next focused upon a big, grey plastic plane model. Here, too, 'SWT' had been stamped, in black permanent ink. Funnily enough, in the same position that a pilot would have his name and rank decaled on an actual fighter craft. The indicated rank was General.

"Meant to outrank your Da?" Zara guessed, laughing a bit at the presumption of sons. "Cheeky devil!" Scott was ambitious. Driven. Very much in his father's shadow.

Also adorning the desk's pigeon-holed top was an old leather glove and a ball. Not cricket-standard, at all. American baseball, Zara supposed. **'Tracy, J.'** was written inside the glove's wrist-strap, along with the name 'Lacey'. Quite daringly, Zara slipped her own small hand into the pitching glove and slapped that red-laced white ball into its webbed pocket. A framed image showed a very young, pony-tailed John Tracy winding up to pitch before a large crowd. Zara considered a moment, then murmured, "You look rather dashing with long hair… the Colonel must've been away on some extended mission, that year."

On the window seat, near an old telescope, sprawled a threadbare stuffed dog… green with brown patches… who looked to have been dragged by one foot down many a flight of stairs. When squeezed, some recording device inside the toy laughed, said, "Have fun, Teddy", in a woman's soft voice, and then played _Fur Elise._ One of the dog's paws was embroidered 'VT', and it smelt very slightly of cinnamon. Here was one who cherished his family and loved music, thought Zara, trying to square that image with the big, powerful, _public_ middle Tracy. There'd been a pointy American football between the dog's paws. That fit him better, she thought.

Up on a high shelf, beside an old, well-thumbed storybook, she found a child's guitar with a pair of blue plastic swim goggles wrapped round the neck. There were sporting medals, as well, from scores of successful events. The awards ranged from a plastic 'A+ Swimmer' victory cup, to seven Olympic gold medals, proudly displayed in their cases. Zara held her breath, touching those. Like the baseball pennants adorning all four walls, and Scott's Eagle Scout banner, the medals bespoke excellence.

Next, she found a dozen neatly organized cases of miniature cars done in metal and plastic. Quite old, some of them, they'd been lovingly cared for and oft handed down, Zara suspected. Some of the names inside of the cases… Zac, Bradley, Mattie and Grant… were not familiar. The last one, carefully printed inside every case, was 'Alan'. Perhaps he would grow up to race, as well as fly?

A pink-flowered teddy bear and scattering of Hello Kitty toys, together with dressage and karate awards, whispered of Kayo, the family's sole lass. In that one picture, only, did the Colonel appear, right arm proudly wrapped round his triumphantly smiling young daughter, her bay pony… head lifted, nostrils flaring… just behind them. Her black velvet riding cap was embroidered with a little gold crown, Zara saw.

"Da's little Princess," she murmured, smiling. She knew what _that_ was like. Setting the framed image carefully back where she'd got it, Zara looked all around, seeing love, pride and loyalty shining from each treasured artefact. She felt quite privileged to be there; not just _on_ Tracy Island, but allowed inside of their memory and hearts, as it were.

Colonel Tracy was off to the mainland with one Lieutenant Commander Sheffield and an eager young fellow with dark hair and freckles, escorting the Hood back to prison. Lady Penelope was busy with the many affairs of a working noblewoman, even whilst off on 'vacation'. Kayo had disappeared, being as easy to pin down as an errant breeze. Grandma Tracy was pleasant but (in Zara's mind) unapproachable, being the queen of this island of heroes.

Thus, Zara walked, read that fairy-book, swam at the beach, called home, cooked and froze any number of simple meals, and waited for life to take its next wondrous turn. Nevertheless, she was not any better prepared than young Charlie, for what happened when the boys came home, in two rowdy stages. Nor for what followed _after._


	39. Chapter 39

Hi, guys! Day two of a surprise 3-day weekend, as my daughter ended up having all of her wisdom teeth removed. Ouch, to say the least. I've been busy getting her to and from the dentist, and helping her eat soft, mush stuff. Thank you, Creative Girl, Bow Echo, Thunderbird Shadow and Whirl Girl, for your kind reviews. It isn't over till everyone's home, but that's getting closer with each chapter. :)

 **39**

 _Mars, dammit-_

The Prototype crew were reluctant to start for home. Not with three missing men and a dead ship left behind them. Not when they kept hoping that, somehow, it would all come right, again.

Day after day, they'd strained their ears at the comm for a hint of Scott's voice, or John's, or Virgil's. Heck, even the Mechanic's arrogant, rumbling _"Told you so"_ would have been welcome. Or, y'know… that Cody guy; but, no joy at all.

Finally, as the red, blotchy planet below continued to warm up and generate atmosphere, as its crust split, its basins filled with mud and then water, Alan was forced to just leave a beacon. _He_ did it, rather than Lee or Gordon, because the one was flying, the other busy teaching his kid about Earth, and his waiting new family.

Nothing better for an unemployed astronaut to do, right? So, with Brains' help, Al designed and built an orbital beacon, recorded a hopeful missive, then fired it off into space. Watched his message and bottle buzz away like a flashing gnat, from the Prototype's aft observation bubble (and anti-space-junk tail cannon).

Rigby had come to join them, as well, hovering beside Alan as they watched the tiny, fast-moving mech disappear.

"They'll hear it," the Marine assured him, once sun-glow and blackness had swallowed their beacon whole. "As soon as they're back in regular time. They'll know you waited as long as you could, and searched for them everywhere."

Like the rest of his fighting service, Rigby was hard-core about never leaving a man behind, much less a brother. He totally got it.

"I h- have calculated the, ah… the energies p- produced by the s- sudden ejection of that, ah… that d- derelict, and, with various 'fudge factors', as J- John would say, it seems, ah… seems l- likely that they will r- reappear within a y- year."

"And we'll get a new Bird thrown together in less than three weeks, bet me," came a new voice, from farther up the main passageway. Gordon, it was, gliding over to join them. He'd parked the kid with Lee and Max, for a while. Flying lessons.

Alan smiled at his closest brother and best friend. Gordon was newly complicated by fatherhood, but still a dang awesome guy. (When not being a total butt-head.)

"You think so?" Alan asked him, keeping the quaver out of his voice with real effort.

"Dude, I _know_ so," said Gordon, shooting across to a fast, arm-braced stop with Alan's help. "Betcha Brains 's already got some plans in the works."

The dark-haired engineer started guiltily, as though caught in the act of rebuilding old biplanes and gliders, again.

"Y- Yes, Gordon. I, ah… I h- have indeed been planning Thunderbird 3.2. Sh- she will be magnificent. _And_ structurally b- bomb-proofed."

They were a rough-looking bunch at the time; grubby, unshaven (except for Al, who still didn't need to) and bone-weary. Three scruffy blond pilots and one tan-skinned, black-haired engineer. All of them bonded by rescue, danger and tested friendship. Each man present had saved the others at least twice in just the last week. They'd have stood up for each other and Lee, come hell or disaster. No matter what the personal cost.

Bottom line, Alan wasn't alone. In their own gruff, masculine fashion, everyone there had offered some comfort, and promised support… and that made one heck of a difference.

A short time later, up in the cockpit, Lee turned to regard Alan, Gordon, Rigby and Brains, as the four young men swooped in through the rear hatch.

"Clear ta head back?" he asked, blue-grey eyes fixed on Alan's.

The younger man hesitated briefly, then nodded once, saying,

"Yessir… we've done all we can, over here. Let's go home."

Captain Taylor smiled at him, sensing that all wasn't well quite yet, but getting better, little by bit.

"Then, grab a seat n' strap y'rselves down, people. Time ta high-tail it back ta Base."

Gordon switched places with Charlie, who was full of sudden advice about effective copiloting. His dad listened gravely, asking questions, even.

Alan, Rigby and Brains glided on back to the crew cabin, each young man preparing himself for the homecoming from a slightly different angle. Alan knew that he'd have to face Dad over the loss of his Bird. Rigby, that the Colonel's beautiful daughter might be there; so impossibly precious that she tore the heart and stung the eye. Hackenbacker with his head full of rotating, 4-D rocket designs; communing via comm with his work crew and Mini-Max swarm.

Took them, like, forty-five minutes to get back to the Island, once Captain Taylor cut on the Higgs Boson generator and called in to Grandma. Alan was deeply apprehensive, but hopeful, too… and tired enough to sleep for a frickin' month.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Tracy Island, the Prototype hangar-_

Sally Tracy had gone down to the hangar with Penny, Parker and young Zara, leaving her newly returned son to mind the comms. Now, she stood waiting and watching as that huge, silvery bat-shape thundered down from a jewel-blue sky.

Lee was an expert pilot, so Sally Tracy made do with a few simple Hail Marys and a quick Our Father. Just lettin' the Big Guy know she was still down here, and needin' a little boost. Her faith was a gut-level, deep-rooted thing; tough to express or pass on, though she'd certainly tried.

At any rate, the Prototype Thunderbird switched from rockets to impellers, about a thousand feet over the Island, muting its roar to a whispering hum. Glided in like a leaf, or a silvery feather. Nor were Sally and her folk the only ones watching.

The sudden huge energy flare, at a frequency 'note' reminiscent of beings long gone, drew more than just Carbon-based onlookers. The Survivor was lured to that hangar, as well. Knowing better, but unable to resist a closer look at the source of that bellowing, chaotic song. False alert. _Not_ one of his own kind. Not sapient, or even alive. Nothing with which he could generate more of his vanished fellows.

The Carbon-bases evinced considerable agitation, however; scurrying like insects to greet one another with upraised antennae and rasping emissions of gas, as their vessel cooled down and fell silent across the spectrum. Still hoping, Survivor shot aboard to scan the construct, flaring like emerald lightning through all of its systems in less than a millisecond. Nothing and no one aboard, except organic lumps and their programmed machinery. The Survivor withdrew, feeling… isolated, emptied.

This hadn't mattered as much during all those long cycles on Fourth World. As a coded imprint, he'd sensed very little, and had assumed that more of his kind were out there, just beyond emission range. In the last few timeparts, however, he'd used the Carbon-bases' primitive comm system to search the observable universe. Calling, always calling. There had been no response, whatsoever. This… generated pain. Damped his emissions and lowered his frequencies to just above infrared.

Was he truly the last, Survivor wondered? Were there no others remaining, at all? A bitter victory, if the Apophis-vessel had also been all that remained of its silicate builders. He'd won the war. Alone.

Very nearly, Survivor lost cohesion and simply let himself fade, like the burnt-out corpse of a star. Only, one of the Carbon-bases unheedingly passed right through his flickering energies, on its way to greet another. The Survivor had not intended to take a new host. The last had been trouble enough, and he was too weak, too grieved, to fully control another.

Yet, all at once, he was back inside the solid, warm, oozing and pulsing heap of an organic being. Ought to have seized its nervous system right then and there, but… why? What was the _point?_

The startled host stumbled and blinked, briefly cutting off its primary data receptors. Wayne Rigby, GDMC, lawyer and WorldGov liaison, had just been altered. _He_ had just become _they._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _At the same time, in that big, ringing hangar-_

Not shyly at all, Sally went right up the boarding ramp to take Lee's hand and give him a business-like peck on one bristly cheek.

"Took y'r time comin' back," she observed, not really angry.

"Had 'a be certain," Lee told her, squeezing the silver-haired beauty's right hand. "They might of been right behind us, Beth. We couldn't leave till we was _sure."_

Sally nodded, turning a bit, as first Rigby, then Gordon emerged from the ship. Her tadpole was carrying someone. A shy, small, brown-haired someone. Big eyes, a bit like Virgil's in color, peeped at her through longish hair slightly lighter and straighter than Scott's had been, at the same age. A child. Her first great-grandbaby. Lee nudged her forward, some; smiling all over his seamed, handsome face.

"Think there's somebody here who's been waitin' all week ta meet his great-auntie," the pilot suggested, brushing her shoulder with his own big, solid frame. "G'won, Beth. _Howdy'_ s th' easiest word in Basic."

 _She_ had to move up the ramp, then, because Gordon had all at once stopped moving. Turned red as a sunburnt day-tripper, too. He stood like a boulder in midstream, forcing Rigby and Brains to edge past him; his hazel eyes fixed on someone else, entirely. Someone who'd hung shyly back from this tide of emerging heroes.

Wayne Rigby hardly noticed. He'd practiced a few lines… clever and funny, he hoped… to say to that lovely and powerful Amazon, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy. Got the right bold stride and confident look slapped together, he figured. Then… walked right into or _through_ someone. A being so old and alone that Wayne's heart nearly stopped, out of sheer, crushing despair. He stumbled, blinked hard, then recovered. Was steadied by Kayo and Lee, who drew back in surprise, when he opened his eyes once again.

Not far away, Penny had gone to greet Alan and Brains, so that the poor lads should not feel entirely unwanted. Of course, she'd known that Scott was not with them, but… well, one could never quite stifle hope, could one?

Beside Zara, meanwhile, Parker leant casually over to say, out one corner of his mouth,

"h-Appears t' me that you've caught th' h-eye of young Master Gordon, Miss Zara."

She blushed, recalling (of all things) that wee guitar and plastic _'A+ Swimmer'_ award. Gordon Tracy was powerfully muscled, though not very tall, with a tousled mop of sandy-blond hair and a warm, friendly face gone suddenly quite still. He was holding a small, brown-haired boy in his arms. Someone he'd rescued, perhaps?

Reflexively, Zara glanced behind herself, to learn what the famed swimmer and rescue diver was a _ctually_ staring at. Saw nowt but that red metal gantry, industrial piping and concrete wall. Impossible. She'd no makeup on; had not even _dressed,_ beyond jeans and a flower-print top. Shone with heat from the kitchen. She said to herself, quite sensibly, _'It is just that I'm new, and he is curious to learn why I've come to the Island. That's all.'_

The thought steadied her, somewhat; allowing the girl to smile at Gordon Tracy and nod a polite 'hello'. Only… her heart did hammer, so.

All at once terribly confused, Zara turned for relief to Parker, who only chuckled and shook his grey head.

"They're like that, h-all of 'em," he observed with a smile. "'its 'em h-all at once, h-it does. Like me blackjack, back h-in th' olden days. Go say 'ullo, Miss. 'Ee don't bite." And he gave her a gentle push in the love-ward direction.

So, positive developments, from Alan's perspective? All the confusion completely distracted his father, when the Colonel came down to join them with Sheffield and Caleb Gonzalez. Still clutching his Bird's main processing cartridge, the young pilot was able to slip right out to Brains' aircraft design lab.

Jeff never noticed. It wasn't every day that he got his first grandchild, a son fell hard and fast for one of his rescued guests, the Chancellor called with an ultimatum, and they encountered an ancient and powerful alien being, all in the same afternoon.

…and it was only Tuesday.


	40. Chapter 40

Hallo! Will probably drop back once again, to weave in some dangling threads, but couldn't resist returning to Scott, John and Virgil. It's been so _long..._ Thank you for reading and reviewing, Bow Echo, Creative Girl, Tikatu, Thunderbird Shadow and Guest!

 **40**

 _Space, near Mars, over a month later-_

Even the Mechanic had gotten a call, or a status-check, rather. The Mother of Cyborgs had sensed his return; was requesting an update. Kane chose to respond, because the tone of her ping was concerned, not imperative, and because… well, maybe he'd grown. Wasn't a weak, candy-ass Tracy, not by a long-shot, but he wasn't what he _had_ been, either.

Also, the brief, intense conversation helped to distract him from that crowded and _other-_ stink airlock. The inner hatch cycled open, once they were all aboard and the compartment was flooded with breathable air, but Kane and Beech went no further within. The Mechanic shook his tattooed and partly-shorn head at Virgil's mimed invitation.

 _"You_ may be welcome, here, but I am not," he growled, not reabsorbing his coating, in case the d*mn typicals tried spacing him. "I'll wait. Beech can do as he likes."

The pale-haired chaos adept had hauled off his helmet, but he, too, refused to enter the main vessel.

"Thanks all the same, Tracy, but I have no ID or official status among your kind. Your admiral will see nothing in me, but a criminal stowaway. Besides," he joked lightly, "this is my chance to win back some credits from Kane. His random number generator can't be _that_ good."

The Mechanic snorted what passed for a laugh.

"More than happy to rob you again, Beech. There's nothing better than a willing victim."

Virgil grinned at them both; tired, relieved and glad to be back in a WorldGov spaceship.

"Right. I'll see if Pete's got anything to eat or drink in this bucket," he promised, adding, "In the meantime, there's an outlet right by the hatch. Try not to drain the battery. Back before you know it."

…and he meant what he'd said. You didn't go through what he had with these guys, and then just toss them aside. The Mechanic shrugged negligently, setting his armour to clanking and grinding like a blocked garbage disposal.

"Makes no difference to me," he grunted, turning away.

Scott and John Tracy had gone forward, meanwhile, looking for the cockpit and Admiral McCord. Found him soon enough. Oddly, the Base Commander seemed rather tense.

"Good to see you, Lieutenant," snapped Pete, tearing his gaze from the instrument panel to nod once at John. "Glad you're all still alive, etc. Now, take off."

"Sir?" said the astronaut, somewhat confused.

"Get lost. Me and Scott, here, need to have us a man-to-man chat."

"Um…" beyond the singular fact that McCord outranked him, like the Sun vs. flashbulb, Pete was one of Dad's very best friends, and they'd been brought up to respect and obey him. "Yessir, I'll be…"

"Somewhere the h*ll out of earshot. Want to be useful, go rehydrate something for dinner. _Dismissed_ , Lieutenant."

Wasn't a thing for John to do, then, except salute the visibly seething admiral, and back his way out of that suddenly dangerous cockpit. Shot a last, worried glance at Scott, before having the hatch slam itself shut in his face. Not good. Beyond double-plus trouble.

The Mark IV Starliner wasn't large, but it had kick-ass bulkhead insulation. No eavesdroppage was possible, even had he been tempted. (Which, y'know… he _wasn't.)_ Scott was on his own.

John used a bulkhead brace to get himself turned around, then glided aft, again. Surprised Virgil in the galley, trying to do something about dinner. Not succeeding very well, either, as space-food prep didn't make any sense to him.

"What're you supposed to do with this thing?" he groused, holding up a flattish, gummy-looking package. "And where's Scott? Hijacking the pilot's seat?"

John took the beef stew pouch from his dark-haired and scowling brother.

"You add hot water at the nozzle, like this," he explained patiently, acting things out in slow motion. Seriously, it wasn't _that_ hard. "And, um… getting his ass chewed to shreds, would be my guess."

Virgil winced in sympathy, having been there a few times. Usually with Scott as yeller, and himself as yellee, though.

"So much for that hero crap," he remarked, shaking his head. No longer gelled stiff, Virgil's black hair drifted around with the air currents and into his face, making him look about twelve years old. "Would have been nice to keep a swelled head for at least a _few_ more minutes."

"When hell gets a freeze warning, in _this_ family," John responded, rehydrating another meal pouch. Chili-mac, this time. "Find some peanut butter," he advised. "Your cyborg friend doesn't like complex foods. Expand his horizons. Introduce him to mustard."

"And women," Virgil joked back, grinning wickedly.

They worked in the galley like acrobats, tossing hot, hydrated meal packs back and forth, while bobbing and gliding at varying levels and orientations. You got used to that bottomless freefall, after a while (though Virgil never loved it; not like his tall, red-haired brother did).

Scott rejoined them about fifteen minutes later, looking grim and determined. Didn't volunteer to discuss what had happened, and his two younger brothers wisely refrained from asking. He _did_ say,

"The Mechanic's been pardoned, and we've been made Heroes of Peace and Unity… posthumously."

"They've declared us dead?" blurted Virgil, very wide-eyed.

"Just since the search was called off," Scott told him. "No one expected a comeback except for Pete, our folks and the girls. Meanwhile, the Hood's been arrested, Al's Bird blew up, and we, uh… appear to have mislaid the Chaos Crew."

"Is Alan alright?" John demanded, his sea-green eyes narrowing slightly, one hand at his earpiece. "What about Charlie and Gordon?"

"They're fine," Scott assured him, fielding an airborne cheese and mustard flatbread sandwich they'd intended for Kane. Too hungry for washup, or more than a muttered "thank you", he devoured the thing in two bites. "Got any more?"

Yes, as it happened, and squeeze tubes of warm, sweetened coffee, besides. He might have eaten better at some point, but for the life of him, Scott Tracy couldn't say when. The dressing-down he'd received still stung, mostly because it rang true. Only, their field commander was too professional to pass that lashing along. He'd made some mistakes. Endangered the mission. He'd learn to do better. End of subject.

Together, the three Tracys returned to that crowded airlock, bringing food, drink and extension cords. Alan and Gordon turned up shortly thereafter, flying an all new Thunderbird 3. They had plenty of wild family scuttlebutt to share… but that was another story.


	41. Chapter 41

Hi, again! There's an epilogue, somewhere, I promise! :/ Hugs, you guys, and thanks for reviewing and reading.

 **41**

 _Tracy Island, earlier-_

Up in the main Control Centre once more, they'd sat Captain Rigby down on one of the ring's TB3 boarding armchairs. Max brewed up some hot coffee, while Jeff tried sorting things out, his way. The Marine _looked_ different, he noticed; more powerful, somehow, with eyes that had gone sort of distant and green.

"Where are you from?" he asked the crowded young man. Rigby (or his guest) looked at the Colonel, then shook his head.

"Farther in space and time than you can conceive, Carbon-Base," he replied, in a deep, weary voice not quite his own.

'Y- You are, ah… are n- not organic in nature?" cut in Brains, accepting a steaming chai latte from Max.

"No," said the entity, still speaking through Rigby. "And I would not have believed that organic sapience was possible, until recent events proved it so."

"You speak our language very well," probed Jeff, cautiously. The room was packed with family and friends. He had a duty to keep them safe.

"I know all that this host-body knows," it explained, as if none of this mattered.

"Is Wayne alright?" demanded Tanusha, pouncing into the ring like a sleek hunting cat. "Have you hurt him?!" For some reason… perhaps the being's odd energies… she could not read past it to Rigby.

The captain's posture and expression shifted, suddenly, as he came back to the fore of his own rented body.

"I'm fine, I think," he told them, looking only at her. "The Survivor doesn't want to cause any trouble. He's… doesn't want to talk about it."

 _Alone and sad,_ he'd nearly admitted, and maybe reluctant to depart the busy, damp warmth of an organic host. Maybe afraid of what happened to drifting, over-expanded energy gone red, dead and cold.

The female organic passed him a container of scalding beverage, which Rigby knew how to imbibe. The thermal shock was welcome, as was the chemical power of sugar and caffeine. Imagine, he thought, actually _speaking_ with Carbon-Bases, one being to another, as equals. His Spectrum would have wavered with horror.

"How can we help you?" asked Jeff, sensing a problem that might be beyond the scope of International Rescue. Once again, the Marine's guest shook their head.

"You offer what you cannot accomplish, Carbon-authority. My need is unresolvable."

"Why?" Brains asked him. "Are y- you lost in t- time as well as s- space? I am in p- possession of a t- time crystal, which…"

"Does not translocate," said the Survivor. "Such shards of Creation are extremely powerful, but limited. They cross _when,_ not _where,_ and the energies required to trigger a jump of the magnitude I seek, would drain your galactic core to cinders."

Nice.

"So…" Gordon cut in for the very first time, coming back from the kitchen with Charlie. "When you said 'far', you meant, like… _really_ far. Start of the universe, or something."

The Survivor regarded him through Rigby's changed eyes, then said,

"You are more intelligent than you chose to reflect, Carbon-diver. This is a waste of potential. Yes, in terms that would work for you, the universe was close to half of its current size, when last I encountered my Spectrum."

Lieutenant Commander Sheffield, Grandma and young Caleb were present, as well. (Only Alan was missing, for reasons best known to himself.) Sheff set his coffee mug down, placed both hands on his knees, and leaned forward.

"Those are your people?" he asked. "The 'Spectrum'?" Was relieved to hear that there weren't others nearby, with designs on Earth. It was Rigby who answered him, saying,

"They're all gone, I think. There was some kind of conflict, like ours, only worse. It was a very long time ago, Sir."

Sheffield considered, sitting back to run a hand through his cropped brown hair. Alone among those present, he still felt his sworn duty to WorldGov, along with a persistent friendship with Brains and young, scrappy Gonzalez.

"One more question. Looking for an honest answer, here… You didn't come down to scout us out, did you?"

"No," said the Survivor. "I came to this quadrant, this star system, before life on Third World was more than mere slime upon rock. There would have been no secrets to scout, beyond that of photosynthesis." (an interesting conversion of radiant energy to chemical storage, for organic lifeforms. In his hosted form, he was sheltered from that sort of thing. In his natural, free state, plants were hungry monstrosities; renders of wavelength and frequency.)

"You've been here on Earth all this time?" asked Jeff, taking the reins back from Sheffield.

"Again, no. Until very recent events awoke Fourth World, and delivered a host, I was _there…_ the place you call 'Mars'." After conquest and war, he now understood. "I constructed a base of operations upon its south magnetic pole, at a time when that place still had usable energies."

"You must be so lonely," mourned Zara, biting her full lower lip. She'd brought a plate of tea sandwiches… egg and cress… to make things a bit more cozy than bitter, barbarous coffee could manage. The Marine captain turned his head to regard her, looking with more than one sort of gaze.

"You have power," he said to the girl, nearly making her drop all those sandwiches. "It is subtle, but present. The time will soon come to strengthen your amplitude, New-Spark."

All at once the centre of unwanted attention, Zara forced a quite artificial laugh, ducked behind her blonde hair, and then went back to serving up sandwiches. Her Ladyship and Parker first, of course. Then the Colonel and Mrs. Tracy. Got round to wee Charlie, next, blushing hot at her nearness to Gordon, who was looking everywhere but at _her._ Their hands brushed and lingered, when she gave the swimmer that delicate sandwich, sending a thrill straight up her arm. Said Charlie, winningly,

"That was good! I could have more, please?" He was being very well schooled in manners, obviously. Said Zara, falling into fond 'Mum speak',

"Of _course,_ you may! How else is a wee, bold adventurer to grow stronger?"

He smiled at her, something happened, and when next she looked, _five_ more egg and cress sandwiches had vanished from the tray. Gordon stifled an oath, excused himself, and took the poor lad firmly outside. Meanwhile, Kayo had questions of her own. Taking another step closer, she asked the alien,

"What are your plans? Are you going to stay here, with Wayne?" (The second time she'd used his first name in public. Rigby felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with alien energy creatures.) Said the Survivor,

"Truly, I do not know what remains to me, Desired-of-this-host. I am at a loss."

Kayo reddened nearly as much as Zara had, and for similar reasons. Wayne actually liked her? She didn't… she wasn't too scary for him? Jeff cleared his throat like a cannon shot.

"I can't speak for our WorldGov liaison," he said. "Don't know how he feels about you setting up camp in his body, like this… but you're welcome to stay on the Island, while we figure out how to help you get home."

"Mebbe not back to Mars, though," said Lee, from his seat beside Sally. "Pete's sorta particular 'bout who he lets onto his turf. Moon's wide open. Nice 'n private, too."

The Survivor looked from face to face as Rigby turned his sensory cluster. He was learning to interpret wet, organic photoreceptors, and the shape of fuel intake vents, as a way to gauge organic mood and frequency. The beings meant well, he sensed. Many leaked power in an aura visible to him beyond their dull biological shells. Others were simply damp carbon clay with a few energy-transfer tricks woven in. All were… concerned. For _him,_ as well as their just-rescued world.

Many long aeons before, his hosts had been nerve-burnt to shambling docility. He'd been many times over much more than a killer. Now…? He was tired. This host was young and strong, still in love with being alive. Wishing to impress and breed with the Carbon-authority's scintillant daughter, as well. It did not reject his presence, despite not being controlled.

"Your offer of refuge is accepted, Third World Authority. I am not free of taint, and you are all very new… but I vow restraint. Perhaps I can even be useful."

It was a start.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _Over a month later, leaving Mars-_

There had been shoulder pounding, affectionate cuffs and lots of good-natured joking, when Scott, John and Virgil finally crossed over from Pete's ship, to the flashy new Thunderbird 3. Alan had expertly lined up their vessels to link hatches, allowing his brothers to shoot through like bullets, followed by Cody and Kane, who'd lingered a while in the airlock. (Might've touched the Mark IV's bulkhead here and there with _intent_ ; giving a very fine ship its own future.)

"Hey, Guys!" Alan greeted them all, sort of half laughing and sobbing, together. "Welcome aboard! We knew you'd make it! We knew you'd be back!"

Gordon was more controlled, but just as happy to see them.

"Took you long enough!" he teased, slapping a few heads. This started a micro-G shoving match that both puzzled and fascinated their two allies.

Tracys bounced in every direction, until Scott got them back under control with a barked command. Well, he started to, until Al cleared his throat and faced his stern older brother, saying,

"Hang on, Scott… You're here, and I'm glad… but this is my Bird. _My_ rules, _my_ responsibility. I'll be glad to get your advice, but in here, _I'm_ in charge. Okay?" Sorta ruined things with that final, voice-cracking plea. Surprisingly, though, Scott simply nodded. McCord's wall-to-wall counseling session had left a deep mark.

"Understood, Al. She's all yours and, in here, I'm a passenger. Still your boss, though."

The slim blond astronaut grinned at him, then surprised Scott with a sudden tight hug that sent them both crashing into a bulkhead. Scott got himself disentangled, pretending not to notice Al's lapse of control.

"Right," he said, turning to Gordon, whose grin still threatened to split his sandy-blond head. "How's everything back home? Everyone okay? Did you manage the rescues alright, without us?"

Gordon rolled wide hazel eyes, expressively.

"Dude, you have no idea. Hard to decide where to _start._ Everyone's fine. Rigby's possessed, but he likes it. Nothing can hurt him for long… only you can never be sure who's talking; him or…"

Alan shoved his brother, as they all started forward.

 _"Bro!_ You can _so!_ Rigby sounds stiff, like Dad sometimes does. Survivor sounds like my online professor. _Duh!"_

"What d'you mean 'possessed'?" cut in Virgil, who'd been talking to Kane, explaining the concept of 'scuffle' as opposed to 'fight'. "He opened the tomb of Nebucha-never-was, or something?"

Gordon and Al exchanged glances.

"Um… _no,"_ said the swimmer, making a face. "He picked up an alien from Mars, only not really. He's older than that. _Way_ older."

"Maybe the last of his kind, too," added Alan. They'd reached the cockpit, by now. Wasn't room in there for six guys and a big, scowling cyborg, but Al had an important warning to deliver, so he'd waved them all in.

"Okay, listen, Guys… it's like this: there's maybe supposed to be a surprise party going on, for you."

"We're supposed to fake engine trouble," said Gordon, while strapping into the co-pilot's seat, "so that everyone has a chance to get there, and hide. Grandma's idea, not ours."

Alan nodded.

"So, we talked about it on the way over, and decided, if it was _us…"_

 _"We'd_ want to know what was going on," finished Gordon, busily keying up scanning and comm.

"A party?" Scott groaned. "Seriously?! All I want to do is go home and face-plant. Eat some more, maybe."

"Share it, Brother. Wait… will Emma be there?" Virgil broke in, trying to smooth his rooster-like crown of black hair. John, too, was looking himself over, with an eye toward seeing O'Bannon.

"Everybody," predicted Al, in his deepest voice. "We've got, like, new people, too. GDF trainees in to help with the rescues. Can't hear yourself _think_ in there, anymore." Only, he didn't seem as upset as all that, for some reason.

Scott snorted.

"Does she really think I wouldn't recognize a faked engine glitch?" he demanded. "H*ll, John helped re-design half this crap!"

"Eos wouldn't fall for it," agreed their quietest brother. "Neither would Jaeger. On the other hand, I'd be glad to bump into Captain O'Bannon. I owe her dinner." They'd have to sneak off, though.

Scott was pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Never a good sign.

"Okay, here's the plan," he announced. "Al, fly the scenic route. Take it nice and slow. I'm going back to the crew cabin for some rest. Suggest _you_ four do the same. We can get cleaned up, in orbit."

"Okay, but… act surprised," fretted Alan. "Don't let on that we told you."

Virgil started to chuckle, though it converted in mid-laugh to a jaw-cracking yawn and wide stretch. Sleepily, he said,

"Somebody always has, since you guys pulled that dumb stunt on my birthday, that time, and everyone ate all the food, waiting for me to get there."

"I hate parties," John mumbled, to no one but Eos and Jaeger (who was out exploring the ship and environs.)

"We'll smile and act surprised," Scott promised, fighting back a huge yawn of his own. "C'mon, Beech, Kane… it'll be a new experience. Ever had chocolate cake?"

He did not say a few _other_ things, like the fact that he and John had been reactivated for full military honors, before receiving their 'posthumous' medals… and that their asses now belonged to the GDF… or that Chancellor Shaw wanted body cams installed on everyone's uniforms, all according to Pete. No sense spoiling the mood, right? They'd find out soon enough, and he was… honestly… too tired… to…


	42. Chapter 42

In a hurry... lots going on (again)... will edit as soon as possible! ;) Edited. Thank you, Bow Echo and Whirl Girl! (Heh! The iceman cometh!)

 **42**

 _A month earlier, on Tracy Island-_

One at a time, the 'New Crew' arrived, joining a critically short-handed rescue organization much in need of help. Caleb Gonzalez had two vital projects going on; one sort of back-burner, one right the heck _now._ Had to get his team back together, you know? Step one, for everything else still to come. It helped, that everyone already kinda-sorta remembered their once-ago past.

First to show up was Josh Kelly, a big, dark-skinned guy, very soft-spoken, great sense of humour. He was a racecar mechanic and volunteer fireman from Manitoba. Teaching _him_ to fly was like giving swim lessons to a brook trout. He "remembered" it all very quickly, and got right to work.

A few days after Josh, Janice Ming arrived, flying her own smallish passenger jet. A former college basketball star, she operated a pet taxi service out of Hong Kong. Family was stupendously wealthy, but Jan had a stubborn, independent streak… and was head-snapping beautiful, too. Not very funny, though. Too serious.

One day after Jan, Piper Austin turned up, seeming nervous, excited and shy, all bundled up with awkward, cute and determined. She'd hitched rides to get there her own way, bringing nothing but her skateboard, laptop and helmet-cam. Pip was in her first year at junior college (undeclared major), and her hair was shock-you purple. Back-alley gen mod, probably, but it looked cool. She was also really tall, which kept reminding Caleb of… well, his _second_ objective, still coming along. It was frickin' hilarious, though, how Alan and Pip snapped together like a couple of magnets.

Only one of the crew was still missing; Iceman. Cody Beech. Weirdly, he seemed not to exist in the WorldGov population database, no matter how hard Caleb searched, or which sneaky backdoors he pried open. The guy just wasn't _anywhere._ Only, he had to be. Caleb's shaky other-when memories couldn't have lied about that. The other possibility… that somewhere back in the timeline, someone had stepped on a bug that didn't get in the eye of a girl who then didn't ride her bike straight into some dude she soon fell in love with, leading to Cody (or something like that) … Caleb refused to accept. They'd find him. They had to. He hadn't come all this way, escaped the kiddie-hell that was frickin' Wavey-World, to get blocked, now.

Anyways, the rookie aquanaut got them all sorted, introduced and berthed, up there in the ring-house. (Which had seemed like a good idea, at the time. Plenty of room.) Captain Taylor and Mr. Brain handled the training, which freed Caleb to hang out in the lab and do a little private tinkering of his own.

Alan Tracy would have cleared his throat and said that Caleb was exaggerating. It wasn't _exactly_ like magnets, him and Piper. She just, all of a sudden, was _there,_ having got a lift from the regular mail plane. He spotted her standing on the tarmac, looking like everything in the world that mattered to Al. Right at that second, everything else disappeared; morning sunshine, ocean breeze, distant surf-roar. Gone.

He'd been up on the main balcony, drinking soda and idly watching the skies (his turn to collect the snail-mail, that day). Then the plane showed up as a buzzing black dot in the gem-pure sky, to circle, land, taxi, and deliver... _her._ Alan couldn't have told you how he got down to the airstrip so fast. Just seemed to surf on pure joy and adrenaline.

See, there weren't _two_ people in the world with that shade of brilliant amethyst hair, that baggy, green-canvas flight jacket. She looked like a goddess to Alan. Didn't have any luggage for him to carry; just a backpack and her skateboard, which she'd already unstrapped and set down on the tarmac.

Alan got there super-quick, unable to quite restrain a huge, delighted grin.

"Hey!" he called out, jogging up to the red-and-white plane. The mail guy thrust something at him, needing a thumbprint. Could've been anything at all from a bomb to a puppy, for all Alan noticed, or cared. He'd have signed over the deed to Tracy Island, just then.

Accepted some packages, mumbled a halfway polite "thanks", and then turned all his attention back to the purple-haired skater chick doing lazy maneuvers and tricks on her board. Flip turns, hops… crap like that.

"Hey," he repeated, catching up to her (parcels dumped on the ground). "Welcome to Tracy Island. You're Pip, right? I'm Alan."

This was actually half said, half panted, as they got off the airstrip so that the mail plane could take off, again. So, there was, like, wheel clicks, engine-roar, wind, and Alan's own breathing all mixed in with that eager welcome. Pretty sure his heart was loud enough to be picked up on seismographs, too.

She'd stopped skating at the edge of that crooked, steep path leading up to the house, and stood now, looking it critically over.

"Challenging," Piper admitted, giving Alan a sort of shy, through-the-hair-curtain smile. He winced, then grinned again.

 _"Ohhh,_ yeah. I mean, you can do it coming down… I have… but there's a couple of handrail grinds that'll spill you every time, if you don't hop the gaps just right."

She nodded, once, then turned to face him squarely, holding one end of her board so that it rested upright on the toe of a battered and shredded blue sneaker. Bright-orange wheels spun slowly, their noise a faint hum. Underside of her board was a combo of kitten and skull decals.

"You demo, first," she said to him, adding, "Know how, sometimes, you just feel like you already _know_ somebody?"

"Like you've been friends, forever?" he supplied, grinning like a fool.

"Yup. That's me. Hi, Rocket-man… it's good to see you." Again.

Alan wanted to whoop aloud. To seize the girl of his dreams and toss her up into the air, but he didn't. Just gestured up at the house, saying,

"Same, Chica. C'mon. This way. I'll get my board, and we'll do the Tracy stairs death-drop!"

"Live and on cam!" she laughed, loping up the stairs after the single perfect, most awesome guy in the universe. They were holding hands, by the time they got to the house.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _At about the same time-_

As for Charlie, he was busy exploring the world like a zippy, fast-moving experience sponge. His dad, Gordon: the _best._ His 'uncle' (new word) other-brother-Alan: cool. Zara: okay… Dad acted funny when Zara was there, but she made good food and she liked them, so Charlie liked _her._

And Gramma! She looked scary, first, but she knew fun things to do, like go for jungle walks and play checkers. She told him all about being a Tracy (secret stuff, even _Dad_ didn't know).

She read to him, too, from a big old book with lots of cool pictures. He learned about monsters and trolls (the Mechanic), beautiful princesses (Zara, Lady Pee and Kayo), and brave heroes like dad, Alan and _grand_ -daddy. He learned that good guys are always supposed to win, and bad guys fall off the cliff or get locked up. That someone name God was watching and keeping them safe, if they were good and always be'd careful.

Charlie Tracy soaked it all up, sitting in the rocker, cuddled beside Gramma, hearing stories about book people and real people, like his father. The pool was the most awesome, cool, big amazing fun in the _world._ You could float, like space, but move on your own, too, not get stuck yelling for help. Dad and Zara taught him to swim, splash around, cannonball and open his eyes… under… _water._

You could go outside with no pay suit. You could see birds, catch lizards and bugs, eat food with no queeze-pouch, and run forever, all up and down the stairs. You could chase waves on the beach and run away from them, screaming, with Dad and Zara.

Everything was mostly real fun, only Charlie didn't get why he had to have a stupid bath if he already went swimming! Or how come he had to aim in the potty, not go in a tube. Or, how come food was supposed to be breakfast, lunch, tea-time and dinner. Couldn't you eat when your tummy was hungry, sleep when you wanted to? Why _not?_

And then, the more bigger bad part was… Dad went to go rescue people, like back on Mars, only… Dad didn't want to bring Charlie. So… maybe he kinda got mad and froze everybody, to find out why. Not being bad! Just wanted to _know._

"I could help again, Dad! It's teamwork, right? You said so!"

Gordon got down on the kid's level, putting his hands upon Charlie's trembling shoulders. Everything else was perfectly still; time-locked in mid hurry and shout, all around them.

"You're right, Buddy. You were a lot of help on Mars, and we really needed you, but…" the aquanaut pulled his confused, angry son in close, for a quick, rough hug. "…it was really dangerous, too. You're just starting out. Just a little dude."

"I could get big," Charlie insisted stubbornly, his brown eyes very serious. Very intent.

"I know you could," Gordon agreed, smiling a little. "You could be big as me, on the outside, and here in your heart. But in here," he touched the boy's forehead, "you're still learning the ropes. I'm your daddy, Chipper… and if anything happened to you, I wouldn't get over it. Not ever. I have to take risks with my brothers and sister, Big Guy… but not with my kid. Not yet."

The hug tightened.

"Tell you what. You learn to fly, from Uncle Lee. Learn to jet-pack, from Scott, how to put out a fire from Virgil, how to handle huge emergencies, from John. Let Kayo teach you to fight, and Alan show you how to stick a point-perfect landing… and _then_ you can come help."

The boy had been ticking off goals on his pool-pickled small fingers. Now, he objected,

"But, _Dad…!_ That'll take my whole _life. FOREVER!"_

Gordon hugged him close, fighting the sudden urge to cry. Charlie smelt of chlorine and chocolate cookies. How had so much of his life come to be wrapped up in someone so s _mall?_ So recent?

"It'll go by faster than you think, Buddy," he said. Then, pulling away, again. "How about this? If it gets bad out there, we'll call for you. Then, you can freeze everything but someone here at home, and they can bring you on out to save the day. What d'you think, Kiddo? Sound like a plan?"

Charlie scowled, relenting a bit,

"You promise? Daddy, you _promise_ you'll call me? 'Cause I'll be there _so fast,_ like POW! For teamwork, okay?"

Gordon nodded, hugging his son once again.

"I promise, Big Guy. Now, let 'em go. We've got a train to catch." (Literally)

And that's how it went, until the big day when John called in from Mars orbit. They'd come back to real time, at last. They were alive, they were safe. They were coming home.

…And Grandma wanted a party.


	43. Chapter 43

Last chapter, AKA: epilogue, BKA: this time, I mean it. ;) My students could go on and on with that... CKA, DKA ... the whole "also known as" thing having been glossed right over, in kid-speak. Anyhow, thanks, guys. It's been loads of fun. Edited!

 **43**

 _Tracy Island, down in rocket bay 3-_

Having ridden thunder and flame from the blackness of Heaven to flowering Earth, Alan and Gordon saw to the crimson Bird. _Slowly._ See, there were ionized gases, alien microbes and hard radiation to deal with, before anyone could approach that still-settling rocket, _or_ disembark. Took about fifteen minutes, all told. (Although, in a pinch, you could force-shield your crew, and pile out much quicker. John had shown him how to do that.)

Anyways, they'd waited till low Earth orbit to wake Scott and them, who really _did_ need the rest. From long, hard experience with accidental nudity, _every_ Bird carried a set of everyone else's uniforms, gloves and boots. Meaning that Scott, John and Virgil had something fresh to change into, after scrubbing down with handfuls of alcohol wipes.

Beech had cleaned himself up some, too, but had nothing to wear except for a blue IR tee-shirt and track pants. Kept his own boots on, though.

"Guess you're officially part of the team, now," Gordon had joked, seeing the chaos adept dressed in Scott's jogging gear. Then, connecting the dots at last, he blurted, "It's _you!_ You're the one Caleb's looking for!"

"Caleb?" Beech repeated, growing suddenly quiet and still; thinking of things half-remembered and dimly seen.

"Yeah," Gordon told him, holding a trash bag out for all those used wipes. "Funny kid. Kinda gangly, more freckles than face, fast mouth."

"Oh," said Cody, chasing the echoes of memory. _"Him._ Others, too. There's Ja… other people waiting for us, besides Tracys… aren't there?"

Gordon rolled his eyes, warm gold in that darkened cargo hold.

"Trust me, Dude… it's gonna be packed. If we know 'em, they're here. Buddy and Ellie, Aunt Helen and all the cousins… Kayo even invited B-Rad, just to bug Scott. It's a zoo."

Kane shook his head at their foolishness. After all, his armour was more or less part of him, and he didn't care who was waiting, below. Could disinfect with a burst of sonics and mild radiation, besides. Still smelt like bacon and tinfoil, though.

Once they'd landed, everyone had to recover their "ground-legs". Wasn't so bad for John. His environment suit picked up the slack for space-weakened muscles, till he was able to manage, again. Alan recovered pretty quick, too. So did Gordon, who was used to moving from full-support water to on-your-own land. Scott, Virgil and Beech took longer to get on their feet. The Mechanic simply dialed up more power, mostly from Thunderbird 3. (Might have left a bit of invasive circuitry inside the sleek Bird… just in case.)

One way or another, it was an upright, awake and spiffed-up seven guys who strode through the hatch and down ramp, to a suspiciously empty hangar. All quiet, no one waiting… just the repair mechs and flitting Mini-maxes, busy with all the tasks of a post-landing rocket crew.

"Heh-heh," laughed Scott, artificially. "Sure is deserted in here. Guess everyone forgot us, huh, John?" (Digging his elbow into the astronaut's ribs.)

"What?" said the red-head, startled out of his thoughts. Eos and Jaeger had encountered an unfamiliar energy signature, and were tracking it down to its source. "Oh, right… nobody's here. I'm surprised."

Virgil bit his lip, hard, to keep from laughing. Without hair gel, his look wasn't perfect, but he'd peeled down his suit top and tied the sleeves around his waist, for effect. Figured that some tee-shirt-bound muscle would make Emma forget all about floppy hair and suicide missions. Meanwhile, Cody stood looking around, alert as a meercat sentry. Kane simply grunted and tromped down the ramp, making plenty of noise in the process.

Then, the lift-chime sounded, its doors opened up, and Jeff stalked through, looking grim and resigned; possibly the only guy present less at ease than the Mechanic.

"Hello, Boys," he started to say, when a small figure darted past him, popping straight out of frozen never-when. He was waving something over his head. Looked like a crayoned picture, or art project.

"Dad! Dad! Alan! Look! Look what I made!" Then, spotting the Mechanic and all those _nother-_ other-brothers, Charlie stopped dead in his tracks. Gasping aloud, he blurted,

"Uh-oh… wait… oh, yeah… Suh- _prise_ _!_ I suhprised you, right?"

Gordon laughed, strode forward and scooped up his worried young son.

"For sure, Kiddo. They're plenty surprised. You totally shocked them."

Out the corner of his mouth, smile fixed in place like it'd been painted there, Scott asked,

"Can we stop pretending, now?"

…which was about when the party, in bits and draggles, came to _them._ Some of it, anyhow. Penny, Emma and Ridley O'Bannon rode down to hangar 3, next, having waited as long as they humanly could.

Once those doors slid open, all three were out. Lady Penelope swooped like a songbird, light and graceful, straight up that ramp to Scott, who enfolded her in strong arms and hungry, deep kisses. She responded ardently, forgetting everyone else in her need to just feel his presence, claw at his back, whisper his name.

Emma hadn't known what to wear; torn between uniformed severity and girly party togs. Had settled for skinny jeans and a long-sleeved grey top with embroidered flowers. She did _not_ run to Virgil. Quite. Power-walked… that was all. Shoved him hard, when she got there, unable to speak very clearly. Didn't have to, though, because Taz murmured,

"Hey, Angel," and picked her right up off the metal ramp. He kissed her face, her neck and her shoulders, whispering reassurance that he was safe and whole, and he loved her. Only her, forever and always.

She hadn't meant to melt like a stupid teenager, but couldn't help herself. Virgil Tracy was irresistible, and he knew it; tall, muscled like a demi-god, black-haired and strikingly handsome, with his cleft chin and dark-lashed brown eyes. All that… and still so gentle. Completely restrained, when he chose to be. Deep in those kisses, that embrace, Emma almost forgot how to breathe.

As for John… well, he was something else, altogether; beautiful, shy, and highly dangerous when provoked. Also, just now unboxing love. He met Ridley halfway. Drew her close, and buried his face in that artfully braided auburn hair. Had to lift her some, to do it, in a moment that could have lasted a lifetime, for all he knew. Their kisses were tender. Questioning: _'Still?'_ And answering: _'Yes, always.'_

She caressed the back of his tousled head and neck, breathed in his scent, not at all caring who saw, or what they made of it. Despite everything, the man she loved was back, and all she could do was kiss him, and cry.

More people showed up, then; laughing, talking and cheering them all (even Kane). Some remembered to call out "SURPRISE!" … but most simply settled for warm hugs and cold beer. They got swirled upstairs like seven leaves in a storm, and that's when things _really_ started happening. Bunting and streamers decorated every surface that wasn't groaning with food or visitors. There was music, too, supplied by Max, who was DJ and head waiter, that day. Captain Taylor tended bar, keeping family and guests well-oiled. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't a good party without a few fights, broken furniture, some begettings, and at least one tipsy, table-top dancer.

All of this was very new to Kane and Beech, who stood there with untasted drinks, like two ice floes in a fast-running strait. Caleb had glommed onto Cody pretty quickly, though it was hard to talk over all that music, laughter and back-slapping.

Then, Cody forgot all about his discomfort, having spied the prettiest girl in the room, stuck in a corner, surrounded by uniformed Typicals. Jan. Didn't want to approach her through a crowd, so Beech simply concentrated, shifting some of that coiling entropy onto her panting, unworthy suitors. One spilled a drink down the front of his dress whites. Another suffered a sudden, unfortunate migraine. A third split his pants, while the two leftovers developed coughing fits (left target) and violent intestinal gas (right target). Caleb, too, had to stagger off, owing to nature's abrupt and inexorable summons.

A few seconds later, Janice Ming stood all by herself in the corner, looking relieved. _Then,_ Cody went to her, still holding that unwanted intoxicant. She saw him coming, stiffened in surprise… then smiled in a way that unlocked everything.

The music had quieted (because of an unexplained speaker glitch). They could talk without shouting. She said,

"When I got the call, I thought: _You've got to be kidding me!_ But then I figured: _There's somebody waiting there, and if I don't do this… if I don't take the plunge… I'll spend the rest of my life missing him._ And, here you are." Pale hair, wolf-eyes, and all.

Cody set down the drink to brush her soft cheek with his hand.

"Here I am," he agreed. "And I'll stay, or go, if you do. Whatever you want."

"Stay," she decided, changing her own life, and his. "We have a chance to do something major, here." Which was how and why a Beech came to be part of the New Crew. This time.

Elsewhere, Buddy and Ellie worked the room, describing their latest adventure schemes.

"The elusive Storm-Beast of Jupiter awaits! We'll risk our lives to track 'im down, won't we, Love?" bellowed Buddy, waving both arms and sloshing his drink all around.

"Soon's the ship's repaired," his cute blonde wife replied cheerily. "That last set-to on Ceres nearly did f'r us, eh, Bud?"

Their audience leaned closer, utterly rapt by the promise of shrieking winds, bone-cracking cold, and deadly radiation. All that time, the Mechanic was at a near-total loss. He'd never been surrounded by this many Typicals, without killing _someone._ Beech was gone, having spotted one of their d*mned females, and striding in to drive off competition. Virgil… Crash-Jockey… was distracted, as well. More of that clashing music-noise filled the air, while Typicals jerked and twitched to its thump. Made no sense whatever to Kane. Then, unbelievably, matters got worse.

"Yo, Robot-Bro! Peace n' love, Man! How's it hangin'? Reeled in, or swingin' loose?"

A scroungy-looking, adolescent Typical confronted him, with flat, spicy food on a plate, and some sort of video-hat.

"Have some pizza, my dude! Let it all hang out, yo! B-Rad, here, ready to rock an' roll with the main cyborg!"

All too much for the Mechanic, who simply hauled Brandon up off his feet by the shirtfront and hurled him across the room. The Typical stripling flew through the air, howling,

"Awesooooome!"

…until he crashed onto a table, breaking its legs and smashing the leftover cake. Rather muzzily, B-Rad popped out of the tinkling wreckage, saying,

"You saw it here, first, Peeps! Me an' Big Mech… hangin' out…!" Then, he collapsed again. Kayo and Scott got Brandon sorted, while Max cleaned up the mess. But, all evening long, no one else ventured near Kane, except Virgil.

Rigby had also been standing nervously off, unsure quite how to behave. The Survivor had tired himself out somehow, and was keeping a very low profile. Kayo came over, after a while, once the furor died down, and their guests were all back in party-mode.

"How're you holding up?" she asked, leaning close enough to be heard over music and noise. His eyes were less green now, she noticed. "Has your 'friend' taken off?"

The Marine shook his head, no. Shooting his cuff, Rigby revealed his left wrist, which appeared to be banded in some sort of olive-drab line-and-dot tattoo.

"He's resting, Miss Tracy. Apparently ran into a couple of… well… not his type, exactly… but close enough to be interesting. Not sure what happened, then, but he's tired out."

Kayo reached shyly out and traced the tattooed alien, touching the young man, beneath. Those dots seemed to shimmer and glow just a bit, as she said,

"You can call me TinTin, or Kayo. I answer to both."

He smiled at her; this beautiful, precious, green-eyed, incredible girl.

"Only if you'll call me Wayne."

"I could be persuaded," she joked, meaning, well… a lot of things. Aware that, _finally,_ someone she wanted, wanted her back.

Not far away (as the drunk guy stumbles) Brains had nerved himself to approach Professor Moffat. Enough with foolish dithering. It was time for action, he'd decided. The music, the drink, or maybe just raw, IR courage had moved him to act, once and for all.

"M- Moffy," he said to her, taking the woman's right hand. "I w- would like to, ah… to m- marry you, here. Now."

Her blue eyes widened behind her glasses, as Vanessa Moffat's free hand flew up to tuck an errant strand of dark hair back into its bun.

"Now? But…"

 _"Now,"_ he confirmed, gesturing broadly. "Are there not many, ah… many c- captains here present? S- Surely, one would officiate, and J- John has that ring."

Professor Moffat bit her lip to stifle a nervous giggle. Why not, indeed? WorldGov might take months or years to approve what a ship's captain _still_ had the power to simply perform.

"Yes," she blurted excitedly. "Do lets, Hiram! It shall be like an elopement, here among friends!"

Squeezing her hand, Brains leaned in to kiss her cheek. Very chastely. Just a peck, for they hadn't yet wed. Then, still holding her hand, the engineer turned to face the room, cleared his throat and called out,

"Is there a c- captain in the house, willing to conduct a w- wedding ceremony?"

 _That_ got everyone's attention, in hushed, spreading ripples of quiet. Met with lots of responses, too. Lee Taylor, Emma Kraft, Ridley O'Bannon, Gordon Tracy and Alan came over, all of them ready and able to speak the right words. John, too, because he was best man, _and_ best friend.

Emma and Ridley got into sort of a joking contest, with Kraft boasting,

"Mine's an actual _ship."_

While Ree countered,

"Mine's bigger."

At which Emma cracked up, snorting,

"Genetics, Hon."

It was Captain Taylor who finally did the honors, with everyone else's assistance. No ring? No problem. Rigby spoke up.

"If, uh… anyone's willing to donate some jewelry, I've got a friend who might be able to help."

Lady Penelope detached herself from Scott long enough to remove a pearl and diamond bauble; something she'd picked up in Paris.

"I should be most happy to help in the cause," she murmured, dropping the jewel into Wayne's outstretched palm. Helen Lydia Klein (once McCord) gave him a platinum brooch with stars woven in.

"Take it," she snapped, looking away. "Maybe it'll work better, for somebody else."

Rigby nodded.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you," he said to the admiral's beautiful, steely-calm former wife. Then, prodding the Survivor to unleash some of that restructuring power, he closed his hand into a tight fist, and visualized a set of engagement and wedding rings. Something pretty and perfect, like Kayo.

What emerged, once he opened his hand, was straight out of an alien fairy-tale wedding. Delicate, new, and completely unique. Moffy gasped at its beauty; this ring of pearls, diamonds and filigreed platinum strands. Brains started to slide it onto her finger, but…

"No, ya don't!" Mrs. Tracy chided. "You ain't gettin' married in _my_ house, without no dress an' no veil. Hold on…"

And she sprinted upstairs with Charlie, coming back down with a white-lace curtain, some pins, and a cream-satin bed sheet. Piper donated the pretty, silk-rosebud flower crown she'd been wearing, while Alan got his electric guitar, planning to join Max for the wedding march.

Said Lee, once the fripperies was all seen to, and everyone quiet,

"Guess it's my job t' say th' words, since I'm older n' most, an' purtier n' some I could mention." Looked sideways at Jeff when he said this, keeping a mostly straight face. Then, "'Pears that this fella and lady wants ta be joined. Got some questions, first." Turning to Brains, Captain Taylor asked,

"Doc, this here pretty lady… is she worth givin' it all up for, an' settlin' down? Ya willin' ta make things permanent, an' do right by her an' y'r kids, seein' as she's consented ta marry ya?"

Brains nodded fiercely, still holding tight to his bride's right hand.

"I am," he replied, quite clearly.

Lee smiled, nodded his satisfaction, and then turned to Vanessa.

"Perfesser… this fella's askin' f'r y'r hand. He ain't perfect… none of us are… but he's willin' ta hitch up and make some changes. Might work late. Might yell, sometimes, but he's a good man."

Maybe he glanced at Helen, too, when he said that.

"Figure pretty near anyone c'n make some changes, if they gets a first chance… or a second one. Ya willin' ta give it a go?"

"Yes, I am," said Moffy, looking radiant in gracefully draped satin and lace, holding tropical blooms in her trembling hands.

Lee's mustached face split into a seamed, beaming smile.

"Figure that's it, then," he told them all. "Y'r man an' wife. Nuthin' left but the ring, an' the blessin'."

Sally Tracy took care of that, once Brains took the ring from John, and slipped it on Vanessa's slim finger. Wrapping her worn old rosary beads around the couple's twined hands, she said,

"God…"

" _All_ of them," Brains cut in, with a smile and slight bow.

"…bless this union, amen," Grandma finished up. Then Lee urged,

"That's it. Kiss 'er, quick, Doc, 'fore she changes 'er mind."

So, Brains kissed his new wife, as Alan played the wedding march with plenty of reverb, and everyone cheered. The floral bouquet was tossed in the air, and caught by a startled Caleb, just back from the bathroom. (Fell on him, actually. Did that count?)

There wasn't anything quick about Brains' and Moffy's first kiss, though. Not quick, at all.


End file.
